4.  \\.  u 


PRINCETON,  N.  J.  ^ 


Presented    by     A  ,  Q  .  Ca-;nn  e  ro-n  ,  PVi.D 


BV  4500  .H6  1843  v.l 
Hill,  Rowland,  1744-1833.   | 
Village  dialogues,  between 
Farmer  Littleworth,  Thomas 


/v" 


VILLAGE  DIALOaUEl 


FARMER  LITTLEWORTH,  THOMAS  NEWMAN,  REV.  MR. 
LOVEGOOP,  AND  OTHERS. 

BY 

REV.  ROWLAND   HILL,  A.  M. 

FHOM  THE 

EIGHTEENTH  LONDON  EDITION, 


ADDITIONAL   DIALOGUES. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL.   I. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
HERMAN  HOOKER,— 178  CHESTNUT  STREET. 

1S43. 


^ 


Wm.  S.  Youwo,  Print©?. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I. 


Dialogue  Page 

I.  Cottage  Piety}  or  the  good  Order  of  Thomas 

Newman's  Family 5 

II.  The  Subject  continued — Sunday  Devotions.     14 

III.  Account  of  Thomas  Newman's  Conversion 

by  Mr.  Lovegood's  Preaching,  with  his 
happy  Marriage  to  Betty 22 

IV.  The  Church  defended  against  false  Friends, 

and  inward  Enemies;  in  a  dispute  between 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Dolittle,  Farmer  Littleworth, 
and  his  Family 39 

V.  Conversation  between  Farmer  Littleworth  and 
two  Ministers,  the  Rev.  Messrs.  Brisk  and 
Smirking,  on  the  evil  Nature  and  Tendency 
of  Stage  Plays 61 

VI.  The  Prodigal's  Conversion  at  Sea,  or  glad 
TicHngs  from  Henry  Littleworth,  with  a 
Letter  to  his  Father 83 

VII.  The   Sunday  School   Examination,  with  a- 

Character  of  the  Family  of  the  Worthy s.  .  100 

VIII.  The  Prodigal's  Return,  with  his  Reception, 

and  the  Family  Rejoicings  on  the  Occasion.  119 

IX.  The  Evils  of  the  Slave  Trade  delineated.   .  137 


CONTENTS. 

X.  The  Evils  of  the  Slave  Trade  farther  deli- 
neated. .     % ,     .  153 

XI.  The  History  of  the  Family  of  the  Little- 
worths,  with  the  Character  of  Rector  Fill- 
pot,  and  Mr.  Meek,  his  Welsh  Curate.   .  168 

XII.  A  Sunday  Evening's  Conversation  upon 
the  Mercies  of  God  in  the  Justification 
and  Sanctification  of  the  Ungodly.     .     .  184 

XIII.  On  the  Evils  of  the  Slave  Trade,  concluded.  203 

XIV.  A  Whisper  from  behind  the  Door;  or  the 

Secrets  of  private  Scandal  made  Public.  226 

XV.   Containing  the  Second  Part  of  the  same 

Conversation 240 

XVI.  More  News  from  Lower  Brookfield,  proving 
the  Efficacy  of  the  Gospel  on  the  vilest 
of  Sinners ;  or,  the  Evils  of  Seduction 
delineated.        . 281 

XVII.  The  Story  of  Mrs.  Chipman  continued.    ,  297 

XVIII.  The  Character  and  Experience  of  the  Chris- 
tian Minister  exemplified.         ....  325 

XIX.  The  Character  of  three  Sorts  of  Ministers, 

represented  in  Contrast  with  each  other.  358 

XX.  The  Contrast;  or,  conjugal  Happiness 
founded  on  Chastity,  Fidelity,  and  Af- 
fection  387 

XXI.  The  Evils  of  Seduction  farther  continued.  414 


THE 

AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 

TO  THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

Contrary  to  the  accustomed  rule  of  most  authors, 
no  Preface  or  Introduction  has  been  hitherto  thought 
of  by  way  of  recommending  these  Dialogues  to  the 
public  notice;  they  have  been  entirely  left  to  speak 
for  themselves:  and  the  public  attention  has  been  at- 
tracted by  them,  far  beyond  my  expectation.  As  we 
grow  old,  it  is  fit  we  should  grow  modest.  This 
edition,  therefore,  appears  more  according  to  the  ac- 
customed form,  and  modestly  asks  for  a  farther  hear- 
ing, especially,  as  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  some  altera- 
tions, and  many  additions  will  be  found  as  amend- 
ments to  the  work. 

The  last  impression  was  rendered  so  tardy  in  its 
circulation,  by  an  unfortunate  sale  of  the  copy-right, 
that  by  many  it  was  deemed  to  be  out  of  print,  so 
that  the  present  impression  will  appear  like  a  life  from 
the  dead. 

I  am  happy  to  be  informed  by  the  respectable 
Bookseller,  who  now  possesses  the  copy-right,  that 
the  price,  and  manner  of  publishing  the  present  edi- 
tion, will  render  it  an  easy  purchase  to  the  public; 
and  in  this,  I  trust,  I  shall  have  my  reward. 

For  though,  as  to  myself,  I  neither  have,  nor  wish 
to  have  any  pecuniary  advantage  in  the  sale  of  the 
present  edition ;  yet,  having  been  informed  that  many 
of  my  readers  have  perused  these  little  dramatic  at- 
tempts, I  trust,  to  their  eternal  good,  I  have  only  to 


IV  PREFACE, 

express  my  thanks  to  the  publisher,  and  to  pray  lor 
the  continuation  of  the  divine  blessing  on  the  publi- 
cation. 

Nor  can  a  stronger  argument  be  wished  for,  by 
way  of  encouragement  for  the  revival  of  the  work, 
with  all  its  defects,  whether  real  or  supposed,  than 
its  former  utility  to  the  souls  of  men. 

Were  it,  however,  in  my  power  to  render  the  pub- 
lication still  more  complete,  after  all  my  efforts,  I 
should  be  happy  to  accomplish  it;  though  I  find  I 
should  have  a  task  before  me,  which  wiser  heads  than 
mine  would  be  ill  able  to  perform;  for  to  please  such 
a  variety  of  critics,  and  so  dissonant  in  their  views 
on  the  same  subject,  would  be  a  task  indeed! 

One  set  of  them  admires  at  least  my  humble  at- 
tempt to  fix  an  appropriate  name  to  the  different  cha- 
racters, before  they  are  dressed,  that  it  may  be  known 
what  is  to  be  expected  from  each  of  them,  like  the 
running  title  of  a  book.  Others,  not  well  versed  in 
drama,  tell  me,  that  nothing  should  be  discovered  by 
name,  because  the  character  is  anticipated  before  it 
should.  Now,  it  shall  be  supposed  that  all  these 
are  discontinued,  and  the  mere  unsentimental  names 
of  Brown,  Johnson,  Jones,  Wilson,  &:c.  had  been  sub- 
stituted, would  such  a  cold  conceit  have  gratified  or 
displeased? 

Some  have  told  me,  that  all  ridicule  is  inconsistent 
with  th-e  temper  and  spirit  which  Christianity  should 
inspire. — Others  have  determined,  that  it  is  utterly 
impossible  to  be  too  severe,  where  folly  and  wicked- 
ness are  to  be  exposed;  especially  where  the  dramatic 
dress  covers  all  such  attacks  from  the  charge  of  per- 
sonal abuse.  Some  have  supposed,  that  every  attempt 
of  pleasantry  or  wit,  are  utterly  unallowable  on  a  sub- 
ject which  in  itself  is  so  solemn  and  grave.  Others 
have  said,  that  such  allies  of  fancy,  if  innocent  and 
within  correct  bounds,  recreate  the  mind,  engage 


rf.         •■  PREFACE.  V 

the  attention,  and  cannot  be  productive  of  any  bad 
influence  whatever;  and  that  the  graver  language  of 
Scripture^  written  under  the  plenary  inspiration  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  (though  even  there,  such  instances 
are  not  wanting,)  needs  not  to  be  the  standard  to 
regulate  what  we  write  for  the  instruction  of  each 
other.  And  again;  some  have  supposed,  that  where 
a  bad  minister  or  character  has  been  held  forth  as  a 
proper  example  for  reproof;  it  was  meant  as  a  sweep- 
ing charge,  without  any  discrimination.  Others  have 
thought,  that  if  I  have  lashed  characters  who  are  bad, 
equal  respect  has  been  shown,  and  in  the  same  line 
to  those  who  are  good;  and  if  these  different  contrasted 
characters  are  not  so  regularly  kept  up,  as  might  have 
been  deemed  requisite  in  the  judgment  of  some;  yet 
they  conceive  the  quantum  of  good  represented  to  be 
in  existence, is  quite  equal  to  that  which  circumstances 
will  allow  us  to  suppose,  from  the  depraved  state  of 
the  world,  through  the  wickedness  of  the  human 
heart.  Still,  in  some  instances  I  am  satisfied,  I  have 
been  favoured  with  hints  that  will  improve  the  work; 
and  these  shall  be  thankfully  adopted;  and  if  they 
appear  not  so  numerous  as  might  have  been  expected, 
I  conceive  I  have  sufficient  apology  for  this  my  te- 
nacity to  my  own  opinion,  and  that  for  the  following 
reason. 

I  never  appear  in  print,  without  consulting  those 
who  have  better  brains  than  myself.  It  may  not, 
therefore,  be  amiss,  to  inform  the  reader,  that  pre- 
vious to  these  Dialogues  being  presented  before  the 
public,  most  of  them  passed  under  the  eye  of  the  late 
invaluable  Mr.  Ambrose  Serle ;  who  kindly  took  upon 
him  the  office  to  be  the  final  editor  of  the  press. 

Under  the  sanction  of  such  a  name,  and  of  one 
whose  publications  are  deservedly  in  such  high  re- 
pute, I  have,  as  I  conceive,  but  little  to  fear. 

If,  therefore,  the  amendments  are  but  few,  the  en- 


^'       ■RP*  PREFACE.  V 

largements  are  more  considerable:  on  these  I  have 
attempted  with  the  more  caution,  as  my  highly  re- 
spected corrector  is  no  more  with  us. 

One  set  of  critics,  however,  I  shall  entirely  disre- 
gard; and  as  in  no  one  instance  have  1  shown  any  fa- 
vour towards  them,  so  shall  I  expect  none  in  return, 
T  mean  the  bigot  of  every  party.  And  while  they 
are  so  ignorant  of  their  own  spirit,  as  to  sanction  their 
sectarian  principles  by  masking  their  evils  under  the 
mild  appellations  of  order,  regularit)^,  consistency, 
principle,  discipline,  steadiness,  &c.,  it  would  be  in 
vain,  were  I  so  inclined,  to  attack  them  in  return. 
But  into  a  controversy  with  them,  I  forbear  to  enter, 
who  make  the  sacrament  the  exclusive  criterion  of 
the  sect  to  which  they  belong;  so  contrary  to  the 
mind  of  Christ,  and  to  the  nature  of  that  ordinance, 
in  which  all  his  living  members  are  so  solemnly  di- 
rected to  look  upon  themselves  as  one  in  him. 

This  controversy,  however,  has  been  so  ably  dis- 
cussed in  a  late  masterly  publication  by  Dr.  Mason, 
of  New  York,*  that  one  would  almost  conclude,  all 
such  minor  considerations  would  dissuade  from  a  spi- 
rit of  schism  and  division,  so  contrary  to  those  lovely, 
uniting  tempers,  which  by  the  influences  of  the  gos- 
pel, are  brought  home  to  the  heart.  Long  live  the 
author  of  such  an  excellent  publication,  but  longer 
still,  the  publication  itself.  R.  H. 

Surry  Chapel,  March,  1817. 

*  Reprinted  by  Gale  and  Fenner. 


VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 


DIALOGUE  I. 


COTTAGE  PIETY;   OR  THE  GOOD  ORDER 
OF  THOMAS  NEWMAN'S  FAMILY. 


FARMER  LITTLEWORTH  AND  THOMAS  NEWMAN. 

The  Farmer  goes  after  his  iMbourers,  and  finds  Tho- 
mas at  his  loorky  singing. 

Farmer.  Well,  Thomas,  you  seem  very  merry; 
what  are  you  singing? 

Thomas.  Why,  sir,  I  am  singing  one  of  the  songs 
of  Zion. 

Far.  What  sort  of  songs  are  they? 

Xho. — i  am  singing  his  praises  who  hatli  redeemed 
me  by  his  blood,  sanctified  me  by  his  Spirit,  and 
leads  in'e  to  his  glory:  and  while  I  am  singing  I  am 
cheerful,  and  then  I  can  work  the  better.  Besides, 
these  good  songs  keep  bad  thoughts  out  of  my  heart; 
and  you  know,  sir,  bad  thoughts  are  bad  things,  and 
bring  about  bad  actions. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  1  wonder  how  you  can  be 
so  merry  in  these  hard  times? 

Tho.  Hard!  sir!  Why,  we  never  rnind  hard 
times  while  we  can  but  live  with  a  joyful  hope  of  a 
happy  eternity;  we  need  "be  careful  for  nothing, 
while  with  prayer  and  tlianksgiving  we  can  make  our 
requests  known  unto  God." 
VOL.  I. — 2 


6  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Jl^ar.  1  am  sure  my  wife  and  I  have  care  enough; 
what  between  my  son,  who  is  gone  to  sea,  and  my 
three  daughters,  whom  I  can  never  keep  at  home, 
unless  they  have  twenty  gossips,  and  fine  misses 
with  them:  though  I  have  such  a  good  farm,  yet  it 
all  goes  as  fast  as  it  comes  in. 

Tho,   0  sir,  you  v>'ant  a  proper  housekeeper. 

Far.  Nay,  Thomas,  you  should  not  say  so,  for 
my  old  dame  is  as  good  a  housekeeper  as  any  in  the 
parish,  if  my  children  did  not  turn  out  so  unto- 
wardly. 

Tho.  The  housekeeper  I  mean,  is,  Mr.  Godlyfear; 
and  I  trust,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  know  the 
worth  of  that  gentleman  very  vv'ell,  he  has  lived  in 
my  house  almost  ever  since  Mr.  Lovegood  has  been 
vicar  of  our  parish;  and  Mr.  Godlyfear  charges  no- 
thino-  for  his  wages;  though  he  provides  us  with 
more  bread  and  cheese,  in  these  hard  times,  than  ever 
we  had  when  times  were  better.  And,  sir,  if  so 
be  I  may  he  plain  with  you,  had  you  and  madam 
the  same  housekeeper,  he  might  have  kept  your  son 
from  running  into  wickedness,  and  then  he  need  not 
have  gone  to  sea;  and  he  would  have  made  your 
daughters  keep  at  home  and  mind  the  business  of  the 
house. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  you  are  not  the  worse  for 
hearing  your  parson.  I  confess  he- has  made  you  a 
better  man  than  when  you  came  home  drunk  with 
me  from  Mapleton  fair. 

Tlio.  A  thousand,  and  a  thousand  times  I  have 
thought,  that  we  were  worse  than  the  hogs  we  went 
to  buy,  and  which  1  drove  liome  the  next  day. 

Far.  Ah!  Thomas,  that  was  partly  my  fault. 

Tho.  But,  sir,  if  you  think  I  am  the  better  for 
hearing  our  minister,  why  won't  you  come  and  hear 
him  too  ? 

Far.  Why,  if  T  did,  I  should  be  jeer'd  at  all  the 


DIALORUE  I.  / 

market  ov^er.  You  know,  Thomas,  your  cottage  is 
not  in  our  parish;  and  what  would  our  rector  say,  if  I 
was  to  leave  our  church  to  hear  Mr.  Lovegood?  for 
you  know  he  hates  him  mortally;  calls  him  all  sorts 
of  names:  says  he  is  a  'Thusiasl;  but  what  he  means 
by  it  I  cannot  tell:  and  I  should  have  as  good  a  peel 
about  my  ears  from  my  wife  and  daughters,  as  ever 
I  should  have  from  the  parson. 

Tho.  What  of  all  that,  sir,  if  you  could  but  get 
good  to  your  soul?  for  there  is  no  good  like  it. 

Far.  Ah,  Thomas!  this  is  fine  talk,  for  if  I  was  to 
quarrel  with  our  parson,  I  should  never  have  any 
peace  in  the  parish,  and  he  would  raise  my  tithes 
tlirectly. 

Tho.  Why  since  1  have  been  blessed  with  the  fear 
of  God,  I  have  been  kept  from  the  fear  of  man;  and 
it  has  been  a  thousand  times  better  with  me  ever  since. 
Now  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  had  need  fear  every  body, 
and  you  have  a  good  farm  and  need  fear  nobody.  If 
Mr.  Godlyfear  had  lived  in  your  house,  he  would 
have  kept  from  you  far  enough  such  fears  as  these. 

Far.  1  confess,  at  times  I  sliould  he  glad  of  such 
a  guest,  for  he  seems  to  have  kept  your  house  very 
well. — How  many  children  have  you? 

The.  Thank  God,  sir,  Ihave  six,  and  another  a 
coming. 

Far.  Why,  how  do  you  provide  for  them  all? 

T/io.  By  prayer  and  patience. 

Far.  I  am  sure  you  must  have  something  better 
than  that. 

Tlio.  Better,  sir!  I  am  directed  to  pray  for  my 
daily  bread,  and  wait  with  patience  till  it  comes; 
and  the  Lord  is  as  good  as  his  promise;  for  if  we 
"seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteous- 
ness, all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  us.''  If  I 
am  poor,  and  a  little  pinched  at  one  time,  I  have 
plenty  at  another.     To  be  sure  it  was  to  admiratioa 


8  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

what  a  sight  of  things  were  sent  us,  when  my  wife, 
the  fourth  time  she  lay-in,  was  brought  to  bed  of 
twins.  Just  as  we  began  to  mistrust  what  we  should 
do,  when  the  children  came  so  fast,  in  came  madam 
Trusty,  'Squire  Worthy's  housekeeper,  with  such  a 
nice  bundle  of  baby-linen,  and  other  things  for  my 
wife,  that  she  and  the  children  were  soon  dressed 
like  gentlefolks;  and,  I  am  told,  the  Miss  Worthies 
made  these  nice  clothes  with  their  own  hands.  Then 
two  days  afterwards,  two  of  the  young  ladies  came 
themselves  to  our  cottage,  and  gave  my  wife  half-a- 
crown  a  piece;  and  the  same  day,  Mrs.  Traffick  of 
the  shop,  sen,t  her  such  a  large  pitcherful  of  nice 
smoking-hot  caudle,  it  would  have  done  your  heart 
good  only  to  have  smelt  it;  and  said,  that  when  the 
pitcher  was  empty,  we  were  to  send  it  back,  and  she 
would  fill  it  again.  Ou;r  dear  minister  too  went  about 
and  got  us  money  enough  to  buy  coals,  to  serve  us 
all  the  winter:  and  at  the  christening,  he  gave  us  five 
shillings  to  help  us  on:  so  that  I  was  never  better  off 
in  all  my  life;  for  the  faster  the  children  came,  the 
better  we  were  provided  for.  I  will  promise  you, 
sir,  we  had  enough  and  enough  to  do  to  praise  God 
for  his  mercies  on  these  occasions.  And  thoughl 
say  it  that  should  not,  our  poor  children  look  as  de- 
cent and  as  healthy,  as  any  children  in  our  parish,  or 
the  next  to  it. 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  you  had  needmind  your  hits 
to  breed  them  all  up. 

Tho.  Wh}',  sir,  you  know  the  old  proverb,  "God 
helps  them  that  help  themselves:"  for  first,  I  al- 
ways put  the  children  tovvork  as  soon  as  they  are 
able:  they  either  spin  or  knit;  and  my  second  son, 
Billy,  has  got  a  loom,  which  our  wortiiy  'squire  gave 
him;  and  he  weaves  very  tidily,  and  my  wife  always 
keeps  us  well  mended ;  she  can  put  on  many  a 
patchj  bjLit,  she  will  never  let  us  appear  ragged :  but 


DIALOGUE  I.  9 

then,  sir,  we  get  all  Uiis  by  living  in  the  fear  of 
God. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  you  live  so  orderly,  I  should 
be  glad  to  stop  a  little  longer,  that  I  might  hear  your 
way  of  living. 

Tho.  Why,  sir  it  would  look  so  much  like  brag- 
ging and  boasting,  were  I  to  tell  you  about  our 
poor  way  of  serving  God  in  our  cottage  since  he  has 
changed  my  heart,  that  I  should  be  quite  ashamed  of 
myself. 

Far.  Nay,  but  I  must  hear  it,  that  1  may  tell  it  to 
my  wife  and  daughters;  perhaps  they  may  mend  their 
ways,  if  I  tell  them  of  yours. 

Tho.  Well,  sir,  if  madam  Littleworth  and  your 
daughters  can  get  any  good  by  it,  and  as.  you  insist 
upon  it,  I  will  tell  you  how  we  live,  both  on  week 
days  and  on  Sundays.  When  I  am  called  to  labour^ 
as  soon  as  my  wife  and  I  are  out  of  bed,  I  kneel  down 
and  go  to  prayer,  by  the  bed-side;  then  I  go  to  work. 
She  dresses  the  children,  and  sets  the  house  in.  order. 
When  I  come  home  to  breakfast,  the  milk  porridge, 
or  what  my  wife  can  get  for  us  is  all  read)'';  we  never 
have  any  tea  but  on  Sundays,  for  it  will  not  do  for  a 
hard-working  family,  and  many  of  our  neighbours 
call  it  Scandal  broth. 

Far.  Ah,  Thomas,  I  fear  you  are  right  there,  for 
when  my  wife  and  daughters  have  their  gossips,  and 
our  little  Sam  the  plough-boy,  puts  on  his  livery,  that 
we  may  look  like  gentlefolks,  I  hear  nothing  else. 

Tho.  Well,  sir,  I  make  m}^  eldest  boy  ask  a 
blessing,  and  then  the  victuals  goes  down  with  a 
blessing:  Next  1  make  the  children  say  a  hymn  or 
some  other  good  lesson-  out  of  the  books  that  our 
minister  gives  us.  Then  one  of  the  other  children 
returns  thanks  t  After  that  my  wife  takes  dov^n  the 
Bible,  and  reads  a  chapter,  and  I  go  to  prayer; 
then  I  go  to  work,  and  as  you  know,  sir,  take  my 
2^ 


10  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

eldest,  son,  Thomas,  with  me,  and  he  helps  me  won-- 
derfully;  and  I  do  think  I  can  do  almost  double  the 
work,  since  1  have  had  him  with  me.  I  really  think, 
sir,  your  daughters  would  not  be  able  to  spend  so 
fast,  if  I  and  my  son  did  not  work  so  hard;  but  I 
love  to  work  for  a  good  master. 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  I  shall  have  no  objection 
against  raising  your  son's  wages,  for  he  is  a  good  lad. 

Tlio.  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,  for  the  times  are 
very  sharp,  and  my  son  is  a  growing,  hungry  boy. — 
But  I  will  tell  you  what  we  do  next.  I  come  home 
to  dinner:  now,  you  know,  sir,  as  we  have  a  bit 
of  a  garden,  which  I  dig  up  at  odd  times,  and  we 
keej)  a  pig,  which  we  kill  for  the  winter,  what  be- 
tween the  pickings  out  of  the  garden,  the  acorns 
which  the  children  pick  up  out  of  the  'squire's  park, 
and  a  little  barley  meal,  it  does  not  cost  us  much  to 
Jjeep  it;  so  that  we  can  get  a  slice  of  bacon,  and  that 
relishes  the  potatoes  and  garden  stuff,  and,  1  really 
think  we  are  as  thankful  for  that,  as  many  a  lord  is 
for  twenty  times  as  much.  Then  I  make  one  of  the 
children  read  a  bit  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  or  some 
other  good  book,  that  Mr.  J^ovegood  gives  us,  and 
then  1  go  to  my  work;  and,  sir,  if  you  please,  Pll 
tell  you  the  thanksgiving  hymn,  I  sing  as  I  walk 
along. 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  let  us  hear  it,  for  I  am  told 
you  could  sing  as  merry  a  song  as  any  of  us,  before 
Mr.  Lovegood  came  into  your  parish. 

Tho.   Well  then,  sir,  this  is  m^-  song:; — ^ 

My  heart  and  my  tongue  shall  unite  in  the  praise 
Of  Jesus,  my  Saviour,  for  mercy  and  grace; 
He  purchas'd  my  pardon  by  shedding-  his  blood, 
And  bids  me  inherit  the  peace  of  my  God. 

My  lot  may  be  lowly,  my  parentage  mean, 
Yet  born  of  my  God,  there  are  glories  unseen; 
3urpassing  all  joys  among  sinners  on  earth, 
Prepared  for  souls  of  a  heavenly  birth. 


DIALOGUE  li  11 

Redeem'd  from  a  thousand  allurements  to  sin, 
I  find  in  my  cottage  my  heaven  begin ; 
And  soon  shall  I  lay  all  my  poverty  by, 
Then  mansions  of  glory  for  ever  enjoy. 

By  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  while  1  labour  for  bread, 
Yet  guarded  by  him,  not  an  evil  I  dread  ; 
And  while  I'm  possess'd  of  all  riches  in  thee, 
My  poverty  comes  with  a  blessing  to  me. 

My  labouring"  dress  I  shall  soon  lay  aside, 
For  a  robe  bright  and  splendid,  a  dress  for  a  bride; 
A  bride  that  is  married  to  Jesus,  the  Lamb, 
Shall  shine  in  a  robe,  which  is  ever  the  same. 

If  my  fare  shall  be  scant,  while  I  travel  below, 
Yet  a  feast  that's  eternal  shall  Jesus  bestow ; 
No  sorrow,  nor  sighing,  shall  ever  annoy, 
The  heavenly  banquet  1  there  shall  enjoy. 

If  my  labouring  body  goes  weary  to  rest, 
Yet  sav'd  by  the  mercy  of  Jesus,  I'm  bless'd  ; 
Fresh  strength,  for  my  labour  on  earth  he  bestows, 
And  above  I  shall  bask  in  eternal  repose. 

Far.  I  confess,  Thomas,  you  sing  better  sort  of 
songs  than  we  sing  at  our  Christmas  merry-makings; 
but  let  us  hear  how  you  end  the  day. 

Tho.  After  my  work,  I  return  home;  down  I  sit, 
and  all  my  children  come  round  me.  I  confess^ 
sir,  I  am  a  little  too  fond  of  the  twins,  they  are  a. 
pair  of  brave  children :  so  I  put  one  on  one  knee,  and 
the  other  on  the  other:  then  I  give  them  all  a  kiss,, 
and  my  hearty  blessing;  for  I  love  Ihem  dearly,  and 
could  work  my  skin  to  the  bones  to,  support  them. 
Next  I  ask  them  what  work  they  have  done,  how 
they  have  behaved  to  their  mother  and  to  each  other: 
then  I  make  the  children  read  out  of  some  good  book,, 
and  I  tell  them  what  it  means,  and  instruct  tliem  as 
well  as  I  am  able.  Next  we  have  a  bit  of  supper,  as 
the  times  afford;  and  afterwards  my  wife  reaches 
down  the  bible,  and  reads  a  chapter;  then  we  sing  an 


X2  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

evening,  or  some  other  good  hymn,  and  I  go  to 
prayer,  after  my  poor  fashion,  and  then  our  bed  feels 
sweet  to  us;  for,  the  Lord  be  praised!  we  have  no- 
thing to  fear:  for  poverty  keeps  the  door  from  thieves, 
and  a  peaceable  mind  soon  sets  us  all  asleep. 

Far.  You  have  told  how  you  live:  I  confess  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  we  live;  but, 
Thomas,  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  Saint;  yet  the 
house  would  be  all  in  an  uproar  if  I  was  to  call  my 
family  to  say  their  prayers,  as  often  as  you  do. 
'  T/io.  Many  and  many  a  man  may  say  prayers,  Sind 
never  pray. 

Far.  Ay,  true,  Thomas;  and  so  I  thought  when 
Mr.  Dolitlle  came  to  our  house,  while  our  daughter 
Polly  was  likely  to  die  of  a  brain  fever.  I  thought 
it  was  shocking  when  he  came  to  say  Jiis  prayers  to 
her,  Ihat  the  man  who  could  come  with  Madam  Do- 
little  and  his  children  to  our  house  two  or  three  times 
a  year,  to  supper  and  cards,  (what  games  and  rackets 
we  used  to  have!)  and  now  he  was  to  say  his  prayers, 
which  I  am  sure  he  would  not  have  done,  if  Polly 
had  not  been  sick;  but,  oh!  how  it  shocked  me  to 
hear  her  ask,  for  she  was  out  of  her  mind,  after  he 
had  done,  if  they  might  not  have  a  game  at  ichist  ? 
Thomas,  I  think  I  must  have  your  parson  wnth  me 
when  I  die,  if  I  do  not  like  him  so  well  as  I  should 
while  I  live. 

Tho.  But,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  what  came 
of  it  when  Miss  Polly  recovered  ?  If  you  sent  for 
Mr.  Dolittle  to  pray  with  her  when  she  was  sick,  did 
5^ou  not  send  for  him  when  she  got -better,  to  return 
thanks? 

Far.  0  no:  we  forgot  all  that:  but  the  parson  sent 
a  card,  as  my  daughters  call  it,  to  tell  tliem,  that  he 
and  his  family  would  come  and  see  them  upon  Polly's 
recovery ;  and  such  a  piece  of  work  there  was  to  make 
aut  a  proper  card  in  return!  how  they  should  word 


DIALOGUE  I.  13 

it,  and  how  they  should  spell  it:  for  my  daughters 
having  been  bred  up  in  a  farmer^s  house,  and  then 
sent  to  a  boardino;-school,  are  neither  farmer's  daugh- 
ters, nor  gentlefolks;  but,  however,  religion  was  never 
thought  of  then. 

Tho.  Well,  sir,  I  must  not  find  fault  with  your 
parson;  and  1  think  you  cannot  find  fault  with  mine; 
but,  by  your  desire,  I  am  next  to  tell  you  how  we 
spend  the  Sunday. 

Far.  Why  every  day  seems  to  be  a  Suaday  with 
you,  but  as  you  do  not  then  go  to  work. 

Tho.  Bui,  sir,,  we  have  something  better  still  on 
the  Sunday. 

Far.  [Taking  out  his  watch.]  I  cannot  walk  very 
fast,  and  I  must  not  stop  longer,  as  it  is  almost  dinner 
time;  but  I  will  be  here  again  to-morrow,  and  then 
you  shall  tell  me  how  you  spend  your  Sundays,  and 
here's  a  shilling  for  your  boy. 

Thomas's  boy.  Thank  you,  sir,  and  be  so  good 
as  to  thank  my  young  mistresses  for  the  six-pence 
they  gave  me,  when  I  brought  the  band-boxes  from 
Madam  Flirt,  the  milliner's. 

Far.  Ah!  band-boxes!  since  my  daughters  have 
come  home  from  the  boarding-school,  they  have  all 
turned  out  such  fine  misses,  that  th-e  family  is  all  of 
an  uproar.  Such  new-fangled  fashions  and  customs, 
I  never  savv  before.  1  rue  the  day  I  ever  sent  my 
daughters  to  that  boarding-school;  but  I  must  go: 
good  day,  Thomas. 

Tho,  Your  servant,  sir. 


DIALOGUE  II 


COTTAGE  PIETY  ON  A.SUNDAY. 


FARMER  LITTLE  WORTH  AND  THOMAS  NEWMAN. 

Thomas  is  engaged  in  clearing  ground. 

Farmer.  Well,  Thomas,  you  are  going  on  with 
the  job  apace. 

T/io.  See,  sir,  what  a  deal  of  weeds  and  rubbish  we 
have  got  together  within  these  few  days;  All  this 
puts  me  in  mind  of  the  natural  heart  of  man, that  there 
can  be  notliing  done  in  it  till  the  weeds  and  filth  of 
sin  are  got  out  of  it;  and  sin  has  taken  deeper  root  in 
our  hearts,  than  these  briers  and  weeds  have  in  this 
ground:  and  when  we  have  got  them  all  on  a. heap, 
we  shall  burn  them  out  of  the  way.  May  the  Lord 
do  the  same  in  all  our  hearts! 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  I  think  Mr.  Lovegood  will 
make  a  parson  of  you. 

T/io:  Thank  the  Lord  for  his  mercy!  I  hope  he 
has  made  a  Christian  of  me;  and  that  is  all  1  want. 
But,  sir,  I  hope  all  is  well  at  home,  as  you  was  not 
here  yesterday,  according  as  you  said. 

Far.  0  yes,  but  I  could  not  get  awa)^  from  the 
parish  meeting  time  enough :  and  there  came  in  Dick 
Heedless,  for  relief,  because  his  wife  was  brought  to 
bed,  and  though  he  had  but  two  children  before,  he 
declared  they  were  all  starving.  So  I  thought  I  would 
go  and  see,  and  to  be  sure  such  ragged  children,  such 
a  dirty  house  and  bed;  such  broken  windows,  and 
heaps  of  filth  in  every  corner,  I  never  saw  before  in 
all  my  born  days.     So  I  told  the  vestry,  that  he  had 


DIALOGUE  II.  15 

better  wages  than  you,  as  I  always  gave  him  task 
work,  otherwise  he  would  not  work  at  all;  and  he  is 
a  strong  hearty  fellow,  and  can  do  a  deal  of  work  if 
he  likes  it:  And  when  I  told  him  to  come  to  your 
house,  and  you  would  put  liim  in  a  better  way  of 
living,  he  swore  a  great  path,  and  said  he  would  never 
be  of  your  religion,  for  he  was  not  bred  up  to  your 
ivay  of  thinking. 

Tlio.  Ah!  when  poor  labouring  men  must  run 
away  to  every  idle  wake,  horse-race,  boxing-match, 
and  cock-fight,  no  wonder  that  there  is  nothing  left 
for  the  family.  I  am  very  glad  ^squire  VVortiiy  is 
determined  to  put  them  all  dovv^n  in  our  parish,  for 
our  minister  preached  a  trimming  sermon  against 
them  all;  and  the  'squire  thanked  him  for  it  in  the 
church  yard,  before  ail  the  ])coj)le,  and  promised  him 
there  should  be  no  such  doings  in  that  parish.  I 
promise  you,  sir,  we  never  were  so  well  off  before; 
what  between  the  minister  and  the  'squire,  there  is 
not  half  the  wickedness  in  our  parish  that  there  was 
a  few  years  ago. 

Far.  There  are  not  many  such  'squires  as  'squire 
Worthy  in  our  parts. 

Tko.  The  Lord  send  more  of  them,  sirl  for  it 
is  wonderful  the  good  our  'squire  does  in  setting- 
such  a  good  example.  Hail,  rain,  or  shine,  let  who 
will  be  away  from  the  church,  the  'squire  and  his 
worthy  family  are  sure  to  be  there.  It  does  my  heart 
good  to  see  them  all  come  in;  especially,  when  I 
consider,  how  man}^  poor  people  are  relieved  by 
them:  and  it  is  wonderful,  how  he  takes  to  our  mi- 
nister, and  says  all  manner  of  good  of  him  wherever 
he  goes.. 

Far.  But,  Thomas,  I  hear  from  my  wife  and 
daughters,  how  desperately  'squire  J31uster  of  Revel- 
Hall,  has  quarrelled  with  your  'squire,  because  he 
has  turned  out  so  religious;  and  how  Madam  Blus* 


16  VILLAGE  DiALOCtaES. 

tei*  will  not  even  speak  to  Madam  Worthy,  because 
when  they  went  to  see  thein,  instead  of  having  cards 
after  tea,  they  had  Mr.  Lovegood  there  to  preachy 
and  say  prayers  to  them,  and  after  that  they  sung 
psalms. 

Tho.  Why,  sir,  was  there  any  harm  in  that?  why 
when  the  wind  sits  that  way,  I  hear  the  bell  ring 
for  family  prayers  every  night;  and  when  Mr. 
Lovegood  is  not  there,  it  is  to  admiration  how  the 
'squire  himself  can  exhort  and  go  to  prayer  with  his 
family. 

Far.  But  you  know,  Thomas,  there  are  none  of  the 
ministers  round  the  country  come  to  see  your  parson 
on  account  of  his  religion. 

Tho.  Why,  it  is  an  odd  story,  if  religion  keeps  other 
parsons  away  ffom  Mr.  Lovegood;  but  this  is  a  mis- 
take, sir,  for  there  are  Mr.  Meek  and  Mr.  Godly- 
man,  and  other  good  ministers  besides,  that  come  to 
see  our  minister;  and  then  we  are  sure  to  hear  the 
bells  calling  us  all  lo  a  sermon  in  the  church  after  we 
have  done  our  labour.  I  love  to  hear  the  sound  of 
our  church  bells  to  my  heart,  for  whenever  they  ring 
we  are  sure  some  good  is  going  forward. 

Far.  But,  Thomas,  you  must  remember  your  pro- 
mise, and  tell  us  how  you  live  on  the  Sunday. 

Tho.  Well  then,  sir,  you  must  know,  my  wife 
always  contrives  on  the  Saturday  to  get  our  clean 
linen  ready  for  us,  and  somewhat  a  little  more  decent 
than  our  common  working  dress,  to  go  to  church 
in  on  a  Sunday;  the  house  is  always  done  up  quite 
neat  and  clean,  and  all  our  clothes  got  ready  against 
the  Sunday  morning:  then  on  the  Sunday  morning 
we  get  ourselves  ready,  and  begin  the  Sabbath  with 
a  chapter  out  of  the  bible,  a  hymn,  or  psalm,  and 
a  prayer;  then  we  all  eat  our  breakfast,  and  after- 
wards send  the  four  eldest  of  our  children  to  the 
Sunday  school,  which  our  minister  and  'squire  Wor- 


DIALOGUE  II.  17 

thy  have  lately  set  up;  after  this  we  all  go  to  church, 
if  we  can,  unless  my  wife  is  obliged  to  stay  at  home 
to  nurse  the  little  ones,  and  then  we  take  it  by  turns! 
and  I  must  confess,  sir,  I  sometimes  feel  a  little 
proud  to  see  such  a  nice  young  growing  family,  and 
how  neat  and  decent  my  wife  makes  us  all  look,  and 
how  orderly  my  children  behave! 

Far,  Why,  to  be  sure,  Thomas,  your  wife  is  a 
wonderful  notable  woman. 

Tho.  Ah,  sir,  and  she  is  so  loving  and  good, 
and  kind,  1  would  not  part  with  her  for  the  best 
duchess  in  the  land.  Well,  and  after  church  we  all 
come  home:  then  I  ask  the  children,  one  by  one,- 
where  the  text  was,  and  what  they  can  remember  of 
the  minister's  sermon,  and  talk  with  them  of  the  good 
things  we  have  been  hearing.  After  we  have  had 
such  a  dinner  as  the  mercy  of  God  provides  for  us, 
we  have  another  prayer:  then  the  children  go  again 
to  the  Sunday  School,  and  we  all  meet  again  at 
church  in  the  afternoon;  and  I  think  it  would  do 
your  heart  good  to  hear  what  pains  our  dear  minis- 
ter takes  with  us,  how  nicely  he  expounds  the  chap- 
ters, and  how  he  tries  from  the  pulpit  to  make  known 
to  us  the  way  of  salvation.  Whenever  he  tells  us  of 
our  evil  ways,  and  evil  natures,  he  seems  to  pity  us  to 
the  very  heart;  and  tears,  again  and  again,  have  I 
seen  drop  down  his  dear  cheeks,  while  he  has 
warned  us  of  these  things:  but  when  he  tells  us  of 
the  love  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  us  poor  sinners, 
and  what  grace  and  mercy  he  can  show  in  changing 
our  hearts,  he  is  all  alive,  and  seems  to  feel  every 
word  he  says. 

Far.  Why,  the  people  say  he  has  it  all  off  by  rote, 
and  that  he  has  no  book,  but  the  Bible,  with  him  in 
the  pulpit.     He  must  have  a  wonderful  memory! 

Tho.  By  role,  sir!  he  has  it  all  in  his  heart; 
and  by  the  grace  of  God,  he  has  enough  in  his  heart 

VOL.  I, — 3 


IS  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

for  a  thousand  sermons;  and  as  it  comes  from  the 
heart,  so  it  goes  to  tlie  heart.  Blessed  be  God,  it 
comes  to  my  heart!  I  am  sure  of  that.  Well,  after 
sermon  we  all  go  home,  and  then  we  treat  ourselves, 
for  once  in  the  week,  with  a  dish  of  tea,  and  again 
talk  over  the  good  things  we  heard  at  church.  At 
seven  o'clock  we  go  down  to  the  vicarage;  and  to  see 
how  lovingly  Madam  Lovegood  shows  it  towards 
us  all  when  we  come  into  the  house,  would  do  any 
one  good;  how  she  helps  to  bring  out  the  forms  and 
chairs,  and  seats  us  all  comfortably  in  the  kitchen 
and  hall;  and  when  we  are  ready,  our  dear  minister 
comes  in  and  repeats  to  us  what  he  had  been  preach- 
ing before,  and  exhorts  us,  and  prays,  and  sings  to 
us  so  charmingly,  that  there  comes  such  a  blessing 
with  it,  as  makes  it  feel  like  a  little  heaven  upon 
earth. 

Far.  Ah!  but  master  Thomas,  our  rector  speaks 
and  preaches  desperately  against  these  private  meet- 
ings, and  says  your  parson  keeps  Si'Venticle;  but 
what  he  means  by  it  I  can't  say;  I  suppose  it  was 
some  hard  word  he  brought   with  him  from  Oxford. 

Tlio.  Mr.  Lovegood  is  not  the  first  man  that  has 
liad  all  '^  manner  of  evil  spoken  against  him,"  but 
we  are  sure  it  is  "  falsely,  for  Christ's  name  sake;" 
so  that  we  can  all  "  rejoice  and  be  exceeding 
glad." 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  it  is  to  be  hoped  you  have 
had  enough  of  religion  after  all  this. 

Tko.  Enough,  sir!  why  we  are  obliged  to  very 
sharp  labour  through  the  six  days,  it  would  be  a  thou- 
sand pities  to  lose  any  part  of  the  only  day  given 
us  to  seek  after  our  heavenly  rest:  for  what  is  the 
body  to  the  soul!  Blessed  be  God,  we  have  a  little 
more,  after  all  this:  we  have  some  more  good  talk 
at  supper,  a  chapter,  a  psalm,  or  hymn,  and  a  prayer; 
and  then  we  throw  ourselves  into  the  arms  of  our 


DIALOGUE  II.  IJ^ 

dear  God  and  Saviour,  and  sleep  on  earth  as  though 
we  were  to  wake  in  heaven. 

Far.  But,  Thomas,  does  God  Ahnighty  require  all 
this  religion  from  you?  would  not  less  serve? 

Tlw.  Why,  sir,  these  things  are  our  delight;  we 
do  not  serve  as  slaves,  but  as  sons;  we  serve,  because 
we  love  the  service:  look  into  the  bible,  sir,  and 
you  will  find  what  my  wife  and  1  find,  that  religion 
is  regeneration,  and  that  holiness  is  heaven:  all  the 
Lord's  "  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  his 
paths  are  paths  of  peace." 

Far.  I  will  look  into  our  great  Bible,  when  I  get 
home;  but  1  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  know  more  about 
the  christening  and  burials,  that  are  written  in  the 
first  leaf,  than  1  do  of  the  book  itself.  But  how 
is  it  that  you  are  so  fond  of  talking  about  your 
wife? 

Tho.  Why  she  is  the  joy  of  my  heart,  and  the 
comfort  of  my  life. 

Far.  Where  did  you  meet  with  her? 

Tiio.  At  church. 

Far.  Why,  surely  you  did  not  go  to  church  to 
seek  for  a  wife? 

Tko.  After  I  began  to  know  the  value  of  my  soul, 
I  only  went  there  to  seek  for  salvation;  but  about 
half  a  year  after  I  was  converted  from  my  sinful 
courses,  I  used  to  see  a  mighty  decent  dressing  young 
woman,  who  came  from  Mr.  Blindman's  parish,  to 
our  church;  and  I  thought  of  it;  (I  hope  not  too 
much,  when  I  should  have  thought  of  something 
better,)  if  I  married,  that  the  Lord  might  intend  her 
for  my  wife;  and  as  I  used  to  meet  her  at  Mr.  Love- 
good's  house,  I  once  plucked  up  courage  and  plainly 
told  her  what  1  thought  about  it;  but  I  could  get  no- 
thing out  of  her,  but  that  she  could  not  think  of  it 
till  she  had  made  it  a  matter  of  prayer;  then,  thought 
I  directly,  this  is  the  damsel  that  will  do  for  me; 


20  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

for,  the  Lord  knows,  I  made  it  a  matter  of  prayer 
also,  and  this  made  me  ask  her  the  same  question 
again  and  again. 

Far.  L — d,  Thomas,  do  your  sort  of  people  go  to 
prayer  before  you  are  married? 

T/io.  0  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  you  should  not 
"take  the  Lord's  name  in  vain,''  it  is  a  breach  of 
the  third  command;  but  we  wish  to  pray  upon  all 
such  occasions. 

Far.  I  confess,  I  am  apt  to  say  words  I  should 
not;  but  how  did  the  match  go  on? 

Tlio.  Why  a  little  after  this,  the  young  woman 
went  and  consulted  Mr.  Lovegood  about  my  offer, 
and  one  evening  Mr.  Lovegood  sent  for  me  to  his 
house,  while  she  was  there,  and  so  down  I  came; 
and  when  1  saw  her  there,  my  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
in  a  manner  I  never  felt  it  before.  We  then  talked 
over  the  matter  before  him;  and  he  read  to  us  that 
wonderful  good  exhortation  in  the  marriage  service, 
showing  the  duties  there  would  be  between  us;  then 
he  went  to  prayer  with  us,  after  this  we  promised 
each  other  marriage:  and  as  soon  as  we  were  out- 
asked  we  were  married  accordingly.  They  do  say, 
matches  are  made  in  heaven,  and,  I  verily  think  ours 
was  made  in  heaven,  for  I  have  been  as  happy  as  a 
prince  ever  since:  for  nothing  makes  us  miserable; 
we  can  praise  and  bless  God  for  every  thing. 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  I  am  sure  you  are  a  happier 
man  since  you  have  taken  to  this  new  religion. 

Tho.  New  religion,  sir!  why  it  is  as  old  as  the 
Bible;  and,  I  am  sure  it  is  as  old  as  the  Common 
Prayer  Book,  and  the  Articles,  and  Homilies  of  our 
Church. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  you  are  quite  a  scholard;  what 
do  you  mean  by  the  Articles  and  Homilies?  I  never 
heard  any  thing  about  them  in  our  Church. 

Tho.  Ah,  but  Mr.  Lovegood  tells  us  about  them 


DIALOGUE  II.  21 

in  a  very  precious  manner;  and  1  am  sure,  I  shall 
for  ever  bless  the  Lord,  for  the  good  I  have  received 
from  what  he  has  shown  us  from  them,  and  from  the 
word  of  God. 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  I  must  have  another  talk 
with  you,  for  I  want  to  know  why  you  changed  your 
religion. 

Tho.  Sir,  I  will  tell  you  at  any  time  you  please, 
how  the  Christian  religion  changed  me. 

Far.  Then  I  will  come  again  as  soon  as  I  can ;  but 
it  begins  to  rain,  and  I  cannot  hobble  very  fast  with 
my  gouty  legs.     Farewell,  Thomas. 

Tho.  Your  servant,  sir. 


DIALOGUE  III 


THOMAS   NEWMAN'S   CONVERSION  AND 
HAPPY  MARRIAGE. 


FARMER  LITTLEWORTH  AND  THOMAS  NEWMAN. 

The  Farmer  goes  into  Thomases  Cottage,  and  waits  till 
he  comes  home  to  dinner.  After  some  conversation 
ivith  the  wife  and  family,  Thomas  comes  in. 

Thomas.  Ah,  sir!  are  you  come  into  our  poor  habi- 
tation ? 

Far.  Yes;  for  I  was  afraid  to  stand  in  the  field, 
because  of  the  gout. 

Tho.  Well,  thank  God,  by  his  blessing  on  my 
health,  I  am  able  to  get  bread  for  myself  and  my 
poor  family  too;  for  1  know  nothing  of  the  gout. 

Thomases  Wife.  My  dear,  see  what  a  nice  haslet 
Mr.  Littleworth  has  sent  us.  I  have  not  boiled  any 
bacon  with  the  potatoes,  for  I  am  going  to  fry  a  bit  of 
his  kind  present. 

Far.  Why,  we  killed  a  pig  yesterday,  and  I  sent 
Sam  with  a  little  that  you  might  taste  of  it. 

Tho.  Thank  you,  sir,  a  thousand  times;  for  a 
little  fresh  meat  is  very  relishable  to  a  hard-working 
family.      [The  dinner  is  prepared.] 

Betty.  Come,  Billy,  my  dear,  leave  your  loom,  it 
is  your  turn  to  ask  a  blessing.   [They  all  stand  up.] 

Billy.  By  the  bounty  alone  of  our  Saviour  we  live, 
Ador'd  be  his  name  for  the  food  we  receive; 
But,  O  may  our  spirits  be  graciously  led 
To  feed  on  himself— He  is  heavenly  bread. 


DIALOGUE  III.  23 

Far.  There's  a  good  boy;  I  wish  I  had  taught  my 
girls  a  few  such  good  things.  But,  Thomas,  while 
you  eat  your  dinner,  you  are  to  tell  me  about  changing 
your  religion. 

Tho.  Well,  then,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  as  near  as  I 
can,  how,  as  1  said,  religion  changed  me. — My  fa- 
ther, you  know,  was  a  poor  working  man,  and  died 
of  a  consumption;  and  then  my  molher  went  to  the 
workhouse  with  two  children.  I  was  the  oldest  of 
them,  and  was  put  out  apprentice  to  one  old  James 
Gripe,  who  used  to  work  me  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  and  half  starved  me;  and  his  wife  Margery 
was  worse  than  he.  So  I  ran  away  from  them,  and 
went  to  the  justice  about  ihem;  and  his  worship 
questioned  me  very  hard,  but  got  me  a  better  place 
at  farmer  Thrifty's,  where  I  had  plenty  of  work,  but 
good  victuals  and  drink.  But  the  farmer  was  all  for 
the  world,  and  many  of  the  family  were  desperate 
wicked;  and  as  I  grew  up,  1  wonder  they  did  not 
make  me  as  wicked  as  themselves.  But  wicked 
enough  I  was,  God  knows,  for  1  scarce  ever  went  to 
church,  unless  1  was  to  meet  some  one  there,  or  to 
show  my  new  clothes  when  I  had  any.  1  had  no  more 
notion  of  a  Bible,  or  wliat  it  meant,  than  one  of  the 
horses  I  used  to  drive  at  plough. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  you  had  a  good  heart  at  bot- 
tom, or  you  would  have  followed  more  of  their  bad 
courses. 

Tfio.  A  good  heart  indeed!  when  I  never  prayed, 
read  my  Bible,  thought  of  my  soul,  or  any  thing  else, 
but  wickedness.  But  you  shall  soon  hear  what  a  good 
heart  I  had:  for  I  well  remember,  when  1  was  about 
seventeen  years  old,  while  we  were  carrying  barley, 
just  as  we  were  going  to  bind,  about  half  the  load 
slipped  off  the  wagon,  threw  me  down  flat  on  my 
face,  and  then  rolled  upon  me.  And  what  thoughts 
I  then  had,   no   mortal  can   tell  I     I  could  neither 


24  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

struggle,  cry,  nor  breathe.  There  I  lay  till  I  was 
quite  black  in  my  face,  and  my  breath  was  almost 
out  of  my  body;  I  thought  these  words  sounded  like 
thunder  in  my  ears,  ''Lost  once,  lost  for  ever!^' — 
While  m)''  senses  seemed  almost  gone  from  me,  and 
before  the  barley  was  taken  off,  I  was  quite  senseless 
for  awhile;  but  when  the  fresh  air  came  to  me,  I 
soon  began  to  breathe;  and  when  my  senses  returned, 
I  remember,  1  could  not,  but  in  my  blind  way,  make 
somewhat  of  a  prayer  to  God  for  my  preservation; 
and  directly  the  wagonner  and  the  rest  of  the  men, 
began  to  jeer  me  for  my  devotions;  for  I  had  but  just 
before  been  singing  one  of  my  old  foolish  songs.  But 
terribly  bruised  I  was,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  my 
bed  for  three  days,  and  could  not  go  to  work  for  a 
full  fortnight  afterwards. 

Far.  It  was  a  very  narrow  escape  indeed,  Thomas. 
But  did  it  not  drive  you  to  make  some  good  resolu- 
tions? I  remember,  when  I  had  the  gout  deadly  bad 
in  my  head  and  stomach,  I  vowed  many,  and  many  a 
time,  that  I  would  mend  my  ways:  and  once  I  sent 
for  Mr.  Doliltle,  and  he  told  me,  he  thought  it  would 
be  no  harm  if  I  did  a  little  more;  but  the  Lord  knows 
to  my  shame,  as  soon  as  1  began  to  recover,  I  forgot 
all  my  vows. 

Tlio.  Ah,  so  did  I,  sir!  but  I  have  since  found 
that  all  our  resolutions  to  mend  our  ways  come  to 
nothing,  till  God  changes  the  heart:  and  so  it  was 
with  me;  for  directly  as  I  could  again  get  to  work, 
I  soon  forgot  my  prayers,  and  was  as  light  and  as 
thoughtless  as  ever.  For,  though  I  had  a  little  pride 
in  me,  not  to  neglect  my  work  like  many  others,  yet 
nothing  like  a  fair  or  a  wake  for  me.  I  am  ashamed 
to  think  what  a  fool  I  used  to  make  myself  while  I 
was  dancing  at  the  Golden  Lion  almost  all  night, 
when  I  was  no  more  fit  for  such  games  than  one  of 
our  cart  horses. 


DIALOGUE  III. 


25 


Far.  But  surely,  Thomas,  there  can  be  no  harm 
in  a  little  innocent  mirth  now  and  then. 

Tho.  Why,  I'll  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  never  afraid 
of  what  1  do,  provided  I  can  but  feel  prayer  while  I 
do  it.  Now  at  my  labour  I  can  sing  and  pray  with 
a  good  conscience  all  the  day  long;  but  I  never  could 
ask  God's  blessing  when  I  went  to  a  wake;  or  that 
he  would  protect  me  at  a  horse  race.  Pray,  sir, 
do  you  ask  a  blessing  over  the  card  table  when  peo- 
ple come  a  merry-making  to  your  house? 

Far.  Ah,  Thomas,  you  come  too  near  home;  I 
must  not  tell  you  all  we  do  at  our  house. 

Tho.  But,  sir,  if  you  dare  not  tell  all,  the  Lord 
knows  all. 

Betty.  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  you  press  Mr.  Little- 
worth  rather  too  hard. — 1  hope  you  will  excuse  him, 
Sir,  for  my  husband  means  no  harm. 

Far.  No,  no,  Betty,  I  am  sure  Thomas  means 
well;  I  sha'n't  be  angry;  he  may  go  on  with  his 
story. 

Tho.  Well,  on  I  went  year  by  year,  getting  worse 
and  worse,  till  some  years  afterwards,  when  our  vi- 
car was  removed  to  some  sort  of  a  'thedral  place,  as, 
I  think  they  call  it;  and  then  some  noble  gentleman, 
Lord  Canceller  I  think  it  was,  gave  Mr.  Lovegood 
the  living. 

Far.   The  Lord  Chancellor  you  mean,  Thomas. 

Tho.  Ay,  ay,  it  may  be  so:  he  is  a  great  man,  and 
a  mighty  man  with  the  king.  May  God  bless  him 
and  the  king  too,  a  thousand  times,  for  sending  such  a 
good  minister  among  us!  Well,  soon  after  Midsum- 
mer our  new  vicar  came,  and  as  it  was  the  first  time, 
a  many  people  there  were  to  hear  him.  Though  we 
had  heard  nothing  of  him  till  we  saw^  him  in  the 
church,  yet  it  was  to  admiration  how  he  read  the 
lessons  and  prayers;  they  sounded  like  new  prayers 
to  me — he   read    them    so    wonderfully  fine.     But 


26  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

when  he  got  into  the  pulpit,  we  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  it,  for  he  had  no  book  with  him  but  a 
little  Bible.  We  thought  for  sure  he  had  left  his  ser- 
mon book  behind  him,  while  every  moment  we  ex- 
pected he  would  he  fast;  but  on  he  went  for  a  brave 
long  time:  and  it  is  wonderful  how  lovingly  he  spoke 
to  us,  while  he  preached  from  this  text,  "We  preach 
i40t  ourselves,  but  Christ  Jesus  the  Lord;  and  our- 
selves, your  servants  for  Jesus'  sake."  He  told  us,  how 
he  hoped  he  was  sent  purely  for  the  good  of  our 
souls;  and  how  fervently  he  had  prayed  to  God  that 
he  might  come  with  a  blessing  among  us;  that  his 
house,  his  heart  was  open  to  us,  even  the  poorest  of 
us;  and  that  all  his  time  and  strength  should  be  given 
up  for  our  good.  Never  did  any  man  surely  win 
upon  all  the  people  by  such  a  sermon,  in  coming  to 
a  new  living,  like  our  minister. 

Far.  Hold,  master  Thomas,  not  quite  so  fast;  for 
there  was  old  Mr.  Goodenough,  the  schoolmaster, 
spoke  against  him  downright  at  the  first  sermon: 
he  said  publicly,  in  the  church-yard,  he  had  no  no- 
tion of  such  new-fangled  teachers,  and  that  all  the 
parish  were  good  enough  already,  and  he  wanted  to  be 
no  better;  and  that  every  tub  must  stand  upon  its  own 
bottom:  and  from  that  time  to  this  the  old  gentleman 
has  come  to  hear  J\lr.  Dolittle,  of  our  parish,  and 
says,  his  doctrine  suits  him  best.  And  again,  there 
was  that  noted  good  old  lady.  Madam  Toogood,  after 
the  second  sermon  your  parson  preached,  she  went 
away  to  Mr.  Blindman's  church;  and  a  notable  story 
she  told  at  our  house  when  she  came  to  drink  tea 
with  my  wife  and  daughters;  how  he  made  out  all 
the  good  people  to  be  as  bad  as  devils;  and  then  she 
told  us  all  how  many  times  she  went  to  church  and 
sacrament;  how  often  she  said  her  prayers,  and  that 
in  regard  to  her  giving  away  to  the  poor,  she  was 
even  loo  good. — But,  Thomas,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret 


DIALOGUE  III.  27 

—While  jMadam  Toogood  was  cracking  and  boasting 
away  all  the  time  she  was  drinking  scandal  broth,  as 
you  call  it,  her  servant,  who  came  to  light  her  home, 
was  telling  in  the  kitchen  of  all  her  stingy  tricks: — 
how  she  made  ever  so  many  poor  people  sick  with 
her  dish-wash,  which  she  called  Broth;  and  how, 
while  she  was  reading  the  psalms  and  lessons,  and 
doing  her  devotions,  she  would  keep  scolding  all  the 
time:  and  that  once  upon  a  time,  when  she  had  made 
herself  up ^  by  the  Week's  Preparation,  for  the  holy 
Sacrament,  after  she  came  to  church,  she  found  that 
it  was  to  be  put  off.  as  it  was  so  near  Easter;  and 
that  then  she  fell  into  a  terrible  passion,  and  said, 
"Lord  have  mercy!  have  1  had  all  this  trouble  for 
nothing!"  and  that  she  was  such  a  downright  scold, 
that  no  servant  could  live  with  her  for  six  weeks. 

Tho.  Well,  sir,  if  this  old  lady  can  brag  she  is 
not  like  other  people,  like  the  Pharisee:  let  me  come 
in  with  the  poor  Publican,  and  cry,  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner! — his  prayers  will  best  suit  my  case. 
But  if  Mr.  Goodenough  and  Madam  Toogood  did 
not  fear  leaving  their  parish-churches,  why  should  you 
be  afraid,  at  least  once  in  a  way,  to  leave  yours? 

Far.  Ah,  Thomas,  you  have  me  there!  But  go  on 
with  your  story. 

Tho.  Why,  sir,  that  very  sermon  which  Madam 
Toogood  found  such  fault  with,  was  the  sermon 
that  did  my  soul  more  good  than  all  the  Sermons  I 
ever  heard  before;  for  it  was  then  that  faithful  ser- 
vant of  God  ript  up  the  deadly  wound  in  my  heart, 
which  none  but  Christ  could  heal.  1  remember  well 
the  text,  The  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things  and 
desperately  wicked.  Who  can  know  it? — And  plainly 
did  he  show,  from  the  Bible,  the  rueful  state  of  all 
mankind:  How  that,  when  Adam  fell  from  God,  all 
fell  in  him:  and  this  he  showed  w^as  the  truth,  all 
the    Bible  over:    How    that,    before   the   flood  the 


28  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

wickedness  of  man  was  so  great  upon  the  earth,  and 
all  flesh  had  so  corrupted  themselves  before  God, 
that  there  was  but  one  family  (that  of  Noah)  in  which 
the  fear  of  God  was  preserved  among  the  many  mil- 
lions which  were  upon  the  earth;  and  that  a  merci- 
ful and  righteous  God  could  never  have  sent  down 
such  a  judgment,  if  the  great  wickedness  of  man  had 
not  deserved  it  at  his  hands:  and  then  he  showed 
that  such  was  the  hardness  and  wickedness  of  man- 
kind, that  as  soon  as  they  began  to  multiply  upon 
earth  a  second  time,  they  became  again  as  vile  as 
ever:  that  all  the  waters  of  the  flood  could  never  wash 
away  the  filth  of  the  world :  that  then  he  tried  the 
fire  of  his  wrath  upon  the  filthy  cities  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah;  but  still  man  continued  the  same  most 
wicked  creature:  and  that  even  afterwards,  when 
God  took  one  family  to  himself,  that  they  might  be 
his  own  peculiar  people,  as  was  the  case  with  the 
Jews,  though  he  was  perpetually  showing  the  mira- 
cles of  his  power  before  them,  and  blessing  them, 
more  than  any  other  people,  with  the  gifts  of  his  pro- 
vidence; yet  while  the  meat  was  in  their  mouths, 
they  rebelled  against  him,  and  made  themselves 
worse  than  the  heathen  who  knew  him  not:  and  that 
even  when  the  dear  Son  of  God  himself  came  down 
from  Heaven  to  save  us,  the  Jews  rejected  him,  and 
the  Gentiles  nailed  him  to  the  cross. 

Far.  Why,  Thomas,  when  I  was  a  school-boy,  1 
used  to  read  over  my  Bible  then;  and  I  remember, 
wliat  you  say  is  ail  very  true. 

Tho.  Then,  why  should  Mr.  Goodenough  and  Ma- 
dam Toogood  be  angry  with  our  minister  for  telling 
the  truth  ? 

Far.  To  my  wa}^  of  thinking,  people  may  have 
as  much  religion  as  they,  without  so  much  outside 
show. 

Tho,  But,  sir,  I  must  tell  you  how  our  minister 


DIALOGUE  III.  29 

went  on.  From  the  Bible,  he  showed  us  how  that 
j3Cople  lived  now-a-days,  just  as  they  did  ever  since 
the  world  began.  And,  to  be  sure,  what  he  said  of 
the  abominable  lives  of  all  mankind,  showed  how 
true  the  Bible  was.  How  he  laid  cut  the  wicked 
ways  of  the  world  in  all  their  public  wars  and  cruel- 
ties against  each  other!  How  he  showed,  that  when- 
ever people  could  get  together,  it  was  only  for  all 
sorts  of  wickedness,  cursing,  swearing,  fighting, 
lewdness,  and  every  thing  that  was  bad.  Then  he 
told  us  what  miserable  creatures  sin  made  us  in  our 
own  houses ;  that  malice,  anger,  pride,  cruelty, 
were  the  tormentors  of  every  family;  while  Bibles 
were  banished,  prayer  neglected,  holiness  laughed 
at,  and  every  thing  that  related  to  the  soul  and  mat- 
ters of  salvation,  were  never  thought  of:  and  that 
though,  through  the  grace  of  God,  some  were  saved 
from  this  dreadful  state,  yet,  that  the  word  of  God 
had  declared  it,  That  "  broad  was  the  gate  that  led 
unto  destruction,  and  many  there  were  that  went  in 
thereat ;"  and  that  "  narrow  was  the  way  that  led 
unto  life,  and  few  there  were  that  found  it."  Then 
the  good  man  stopt,  and  wept  like  the  rain,  as  a  fa- 
ther would  over  a  dying  child  he  dearly  loved.  So 
I  took  it;  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  began  to 
weep  over  my  sinful  state.  0!  thought  I,  does  that 
dear  servant  of  God  love  my  soul  better  than  I  love 
it  myself?  while  I  thought  that  surely  he  meant  all 
his  sermon  against  me;  for  my  conscience  told  me  I 
deserved  it,  and  a  thousand  times  more.  There  1 
sat,  with  a  broken  and  contrite  heart,  for  the  first 
time;  and  in  the  next  pew  sat  Ned  Swig,  as  he  was 
once  called,  who  keeps  the  Golden  Lion;  where  I 
Iiad  often  been  in  my  sinful  practices,  crying  and 

grieving  for  sin,  still  more  affected  than  myself 

[Thomas  weeps.] 
VOL.  I. — 4 


30  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Far.  Thomas,  why  should  you  cry  ?  You  should 
not  be  melancholy,  for,  I  dare  say,  God  Almighty 
will  forgive  you. 

Tlio.  Why,  my  dear  sir,  I  know  he  has  forgiven 
me;  and  like  poor  Mary  Magdalene,  it  is  fit  that  I 
should  weep,  as  she  did,  out  of  love  to  him  that  loved 
her  so  much,  because  she  had  much  forgiven. 

Far.  To  be  sure,  there  is  a  wonderful  alteration  in 
Master  Swig's  way  of  living;  for  they  say,  he  once 
kept  a  deadly  bad  house;  and  that  the  first  time  he 
heard  Mr.  Lovegood,  he  went  directly  home,  and 
pulled  down  from  the  walls  all  the  merry  songs  and 
pictures  which  he  had  bought  to  please  his  customers. 
To  be  sure,  some  of  them,  they  say,  were  enough  to 
make  one  split  one's  sides  with  laughing;  and  his 
wife  thought  for  sure  he  was  mad;  though  since,  she 
has  become  as  strong  a  follower  of  Mr.  Lovegood  as 
himself;  and  in  about  a  month  afterwards,  instead  of 
his  merry  songs  and  pictures,  it  was  all  about  religion : 
— A  journey  from  Time  to  Eternity  in  one  place; 
Mr.  Dodd's  Sayings  in  another:  and  then  elsewhere, 
ever  so  many  parliament  acts  against  tippling  and 
drunkenness,  cursing  and  swearing:  and  then  two 
fine  pictures,  called  the  Higroglyphics,^  or  some  such 
word,  of  the  natural  and  spiritual  man:  but  that  is 
above  my  reading,  Thomas. 

Tho.  And  it  was  above  mine  too,  till  I  heard  Mr. 
Lovegood:  but  now  1  find,  as  we  pray  in  the  Christ- 
mas Collect,  "  That  all  who  are  regenerate,  and 
born  again,  and  are  daily  renewed  by  God's  Holy 
Spirit,"  are  spiritual  men,  and  bring  forth  the  fruits 
of  the  Spirit:  and  that  natural  men  act  according  to 
the  natural  corruptions  of  their  heart;  and  that  ex- 
plains the  two  trees,  which  are  man  in  two  different 
states. 

Far.  Well,  I  am  sure,  I  wonder  Ned  had  such  re- 

*  Hieroglyphics,  the  farmer  means. 


DIALOGUE  III. 


31 


solution  to  reform :  I  suppose,  he  must  have  lost  many 
and  many  a  golden  guinea  by  his  religion:  for  since 
he  has  taken  to  this  new  way,  they  say,  he  does  not 
draw  half  the  drink;  and  I  wonder  how  he  can  keep 
up  his  Golden  Lion:  for  it  is  said,  no  man  can  have 
a  drop  of  drink  beyond  a  pint  or  two;  ami  that,  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end,  not  a  drunken  man  is  ever 
known  to  come  out  of  his  house! 

Tho.  Now  this  is  all  true,  and  yet  Master  Edward 
is  provided  for  in  a  way  wonderfully  providential; 
for  the  precious  word  of  life,  held  forth  by  our  dear 
minister,  has  drawn  many  a  poor  sinner  from  afar  to 
our  church;  and  then  away  they  all  go  to  the  Golden 
Lion  between  the  services. 

Far.  What!  from  the  church  to  the  alehouse.  That 
is  as  bad  as  in  our  parish. 

T/w.  Why,  sir,  if  the  good  people  in  your 
parish  should  go  from  the  church  to  any  of  the  ale- 
houses, that  they  might  talk  about  the  sermon,  read 
the  Bible,  and  sing  God's  praises,  while  they  refresh 
themselves,  I  should  see  no  harm  in  it:  but  1  only 
meant  to  say,  that  if  Master  E'.dward  has  lost  some  of 
his  customers,  he  may  have  his  reward  partly  in  this 
world:  yet  certainly  he  still  loses  some  golden  gui- 
neas; but  in  the  room  of  these  he  expects  a  golden 
crown.  For  once  he  lived  by  sin,  but  now  he  lives 
by  faith;  and  I  am  sure  while  the  Bible  is  true,  he'll 
never  starve:  "For  if  we  first  seek  the  kingdom  of 
God  and  his  righteousness,  all  these  things  are  to  be 
added  unto  us." 

Fai\  I  confess,  there  is  not  such  an  alehouse  in  our 
town,  though  there  are  enough  of  them. 

Tho.  What!  are  none  of  the  gentlefolks,  or  justices, 
or  quality  of  the  town,  willing  to  assist  in  reforming 
them  ? 

Far.  Hush,  Thomas,  I  am  churchwarden  this 
year;  they  made  me  swear  a  desperate  strict  oath 


S2  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES, 

against  all  these  bad  ways;  and  if  I  was  to  stir  in  it; 
every  one  would  be  against  me;  but  I'll  promise  you, 
the  oath  gripes  my  conscience  pretty  shar])ly;  and 
I  do  think  if  I  was  to  come  to  your  church,  I  should 
be  in  a  state  of  desperation,  unless  1  was  to  mend  my 
ways. 

Tho.  Nobody  that  comes  to  our  church  is  led  into 
a  state  of  desperation;  for  as  soon  as  ever  our  dear 
minister  saw  many  of  us  weeping  under  a  sense  of 
sin,  he  besought  us  all  to  come  to  church  in  the  af- 
ternoon, as  he  could  not  leave  us  till  another  Sunday, 
that  we  might  liear  what  mercy  there  was  in  the  Gos- 
pel for  poor  sinners:  and  from  that  time  forward  we 
had  an  afternoon  sermon. 

Far.  Yes;  and  a  fine  bustle  this  made  among  many 
of  the  parsons  up  and  down  the  country,  for  bringing 
up  such  sort  of  customs  of  double  duty,  as  they  call  it, 
in  villages. 

Tho.  Why,  if  Mr.  Lovegood  had  come  into  our 
parish  on  the  same  footing  as  you  took  the  lease  of 
your  farm,  he  would  have  had  a  right  to  have  made 
a  bargain  for  his  sermons,  as  you  do  at  market  for 
butter,  cheese,  cattle,  and  corn;  but,  God  be  praised, 
he  only  thought  of  the  salvation  of  our  souls. 

Far.  Well,  w^ell,  our  minister  wants  to  make  us 
good  too,  if  he  can,  for  he  tells  us  a  deal  more  of  our 
duty  than  many  of  us  practise;  and  we  have  all  his 
sermons  round  once  a  year.  I  have  heard  them  over 
nineteen  times;  and  he  says  we  shall  liave  no  new 
ones  till  we  practise  the  old  ones  better;  though  he 
has  given  us  two  or  three  famous  new  ones  of  late 
against  modern  'Thitslsts,  which  come  round  about 
Whitsuntide.  Madam  Toogood  says,  one  of  them 
he  borrowed  from  Mr.  Blindman;  and  the  text  is, 
"If  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  they  shall  both  fall  into 
the  ditch.''     And  a  trimming  sermon  it  is. 

TliO-   Why,  I  have  heard  our  dear  minister  these 


DIALOGUE  III.  33 

seven  years,  and  he  has  his  heart  full  of  sermons,  and 
they  are  always  new. 

Far.  Now,  Thomas,  I  think  you  are  very  uncha- 
ritahle;  for  you  condemn  all  ministers  if  they  don't 
preach  oif-hand. 

Tho.  Nay,  that  is  not  true,  sir ;  for  there  is 
that  dear  loving  gentleman,  Mr.  Fearing,  he  dares 
not  preach  as  our  minister,  and  some  others,  with- 
out his  sermon-book;  but  blessed  sermons  he  reads 
to  us  as  ever  man  can  write.  I  love  to  hear  him, 
dear  man.  But,  sir,  if  you  please,  I  would  rather 
tell  you  about  the  afternoon-sermon,  which  was  such 
a  blessing  to  my  poor  bleeding  heart,  as  the  time  slips 
away. 

Far.  Well,  I  can  sit  a  little  longer. 

Betty.  Would  you  like  to  eat  a  little  bit  with  us, 
in  our  plain  way?  I  can  fry  you  a  fresh  bit,  if  you 
please,  sir.  Billy,  fetch  Mr.  Littleworth  a  clean 
trencher. 

Far.  No,  Betty,  I  thank  you;  I  had  rather  go  hun- 
gry to  my  dinner.     But  let  us  hear,  Thomas. 

Tho.  O  sir!  after  my  heart  had  been  so  deeply 
cut  in  the  morning,  instead  of  going  home  to  dinner 
with  the  family,  I  took  my  bread  and  cheese,  and 
went  into  the  fields,  walking  about,  crying  with  Job, 
"  Behold,  I  am  vile;"  and  with  the  poor  publican, 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  When  I  heard 
the  bells  ring,  away  to  church  I  went;  and  twice  to 
church  on  the  same  day,  1  never  went  before.  On 
the  road  I  met  poor  Master  Edward:  1  began  telling 
him  the  feelings  of  my  heart;  and,  instead  of  an- 
swering me,  he  wept;  and  I  wept  too.  We  well 
remembered  how  much  evil  we  had  done  to  each 
other,  by  being  mess-mates  in  sin;  and  into  the 
church  we  went.  Our  dear  minister  soon  came  in; 
and  in  the  second  lesson  he  read  these  words:  "This 
is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
4* 


34  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tliat  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners.'^ 
These  words  so  affected  him,  that  he  stopt  and  wept, 
then  wiped  his  eyes,  and  read  them  over  a  second 
time.  After  prayers,  he  got  into  the  pulpit,  and  took 
the  same  words  for  his  text;  and  0,  such  a  sermon, 
sure,  never  was  preached  before.  He  showed,  all 
the  Bible  over,  that  never  did  any  poor  sinner  sue 
for  mercy  but  he  had  it.  He  told  us  of  Manasseh, 
of  Saul,  the  Philippian  jailer,  and  the  thief  upon  the 
cross:  tliat  all  these  poor  bleeding  penitents  were  at 
once  accepted,  without  any  other  righteousness  but 
what  was  to  be  found  in  him  who  died  to  justify  the 
ungodly;  and  tliat  whosoever — and  again  he  said  it, 
^•Whosoever  cometh  unto  him,  he  will  in  nowise 
cast  out.'^  0  what  a  time  of  love  was  this!  How 
Ed^vard  looked  at  me,  and  I  at  him,  while  we  both, 
by  faith,  looked  at  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  for  our  re- 
demption! 

Far.  And  was  this  all  you  did  for  your  salvation? 

Tho.  Why,  sir,  nothing  more  could  be  done;  for 
the  love  of  Christ  broke  our  hearts  into  a  thousand 
pieces:  from  that  moment  we  felt  the  chains  of  sin 
drop  off  from  the  soul,  and  we  were  at  liberty  to 
love  and  serve  the  Lord.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
v/e  began  to  experience  what  it  was  to  be  "  made  new 
creatures  in  Christ  Jesus;  old  things  passed  away, 
and  all  things  became  new.''  Being  thus  "  made 
partakers  of  the  divine  nature,"  and  ^'  renewed  in  the 
spirit  of  our  minds,"  that  prayer  in  the  communion 
service,  we  trust,  was  answered  now,  which  vve  might 
have  read,  but  never  prayed  before:  "  Cleanse  the 
thoughts  of  our  hearts  by  the  inspiration  of  thy  Holy 
Spirit,  that  vve  may  perfectly  love  thee,  and  worthily 
magnify  thy  holy  name."  And  when  he  concluded 
that  blessed  sermon  with  these  words  from  St.  Paul, 
"  I  beseech  you,  brethren,  by  the  mercies  of  God, 
that  ye  present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  holy 
and   acceptable   to   God,  which   is  your   reasonable 


DIALOGUE  III. 


35 


with  a  hearty  Amen,  we  at  once  found 
that  we  could  give  ourselves  away  to  live  to  his 
glory. 

Far.  Ah!  but  Master  Thomas,  all  the  followers 
of  your  Vicar  are  not  sucli  saints,  for  all  this:  for 
there  is  Mr.  Feigning,  the  Squire's  steward,  though 
he  is  a  wonderful  stickler  for  your  parson,  is  no  bet- 
ter than  he  should  be:  and  Mrs.  Fairspeech,  though 
she  comes  with  such  a  wonderful  sanctified  face, 
loves  a  sly  drop  as  well  as  any  of  her  neighbours, 
and  then  scolds  her  husband  for  not  being  of  her  re- 
ligion. 

Tho.  Yes;  and  it  grieves  us  to  the  heart,  to  think 
that  there  should  be  any  "  who  name  the  name  of 
Christ, and  depart  not  from  iniquity:"  but  hypocrites 
there  always  were,  and  will  be;  yet  real  religion  is 
never  the  worse  for  them.  But  still,  you  know,  sir, 
the  Gospel  has  done  wonders  among  us.  Common 
swearers,  and  others,  who  never  prayed  before,  have 
been  made  to  pray  of  late:  drunkards  have  become 
sober,  and  their  ragged  families  decently  clad:  Sab- 
bath-breakers, who  had  heart  for  nothing  on  that  day 
but  vanity  and  sinful  mirth,  can  now  fill  the  house  of 
God,  and  find  it  their  heaven  upon  earth;  yea,  and 
families  where  wrath  and  anger  reigned,  are  now  ruled 
by  love,  by  "that  meekness  and  gentleness  which  is 
in  Christ  Jesus."  Thus  have  we  happily  proved 
"  the  Gospel  to  be  the  power  of  God  to  our  salvation," 
by  the  blessed  fruits  of  righteousness  which  have  been 
produced  thereby. 

Far.  I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  so  fond  of  your 
sort  of  ministers,  while  they  do  you  so  much  good. 

Tho.  Why,  we  care  not  what  sort  they  are,  pro- 
vided they  are  but  of  a  godly  sort:  but  you  know, 
sir,  how  terribly  people  are  hardened  in  sin,  if  the 
lives  of  the  ministers,  and  other  great  folks,  be  in- 
consistent with  the  gospel;  and  how  many  there  are 


36  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

novv-a-days  who  scoff  at  the  Bible  itself  outright, 
when  such  men  so  mortally  wound  so  good  a  cause, 
yea,  such  men  had  much  better  never  preach  at  all, 
a  thousand  times,  while  their  lives  so  belie  their 
words. 

Far.  Well,  1  must  confess,  that  I  have  many  times 
thought  that  if  I  were  as  good  as  the  parson,  I  need 
be  no  better:  but  is  not  young  Parson  Merryman  one 
of  your  sort  of  late  ?  I  remember  him  when  he  was 
a  strange  wild  blade;  how  he  used  to  gallop  over  my 
farm,  shouting  and  roaring  like  a  madman,  after  Lord 
Rakish's  hounds;  and  how  deadly  angry  be  used  to 
be  with  his  uncle,  who  would  have  him  made  a  parson 
of,  because  there  was  a  good  fat  living  in  the  family; 
how  he  could  crack  his  jokes,  how  soon  he  did  over 
his  parishioners  in  the  afternoon,  that  he,  and  the  gen- 
tlefolks who  came  to  see  him  on  the  Sunday,  might 
not  be  disturbed  from  dinner  and  the  bottle. 

Tho.  Yes,  sir;  and  I  dare  say  you  have  heard  that 
when  our  minister  was  called  to  preach  before  my 
Lord  Bishop,  and  all  his  clergy,  how  that  worthy 
young  gentleman  was  so  affected  at  the  things  he 
heard  about  the  duty  of  ministers  (what  they  should 
preach,  and  how  they  should  live)  that  he  could  not 
be  at  rest  in  his  conscience  till  he  came  to  see  Mr. 
Lovegood;  and  now  every  body  wonders  at  what  an 
altered  man  he  is. 

Far.  Ay;  and  it  is  not  above  two  3'ears  ago, when 
he  came  to  our  town,  while  the  stage-play  people 
were  there,  and  how  he  romanced  with  our  daughters; 
and  what  a  racket  he  kept  up,  when  all  of  them  should 
liave  been  in  bed  and  asleep,  it  would  be  a  shame  to 
tell. 

Tho.  Yes;  but  then  he  was  a  minister  of  man's 
making;  but  now  he  is  a  minister  of  God's  making. 
Once  he  loved  his  sports,  but  now  he  loves  the  souls 
of  his  parishioners:  once  he  loved  the  fleece,  but  now 


DIALOGUE  III. 


37 


he  Joves  the  flock  ;  once  he  was  for  this  world,  but 
now  he  is  for  the  next.  0  sir,  what  wonders  are  done 
by  the  grace  of  God  on  the  hearts  of  sinners! 

Far.  Well,  Thomas,  I  believe  Mr.  Merryman  is  a 
true  convert;  but  I  must  be  going;  you  and  your 
family  have  picked  up  the  scraps  pretty  clean. 

Tlw.  It  is  too  good  to  be  wasted:  thank  the  Lord, 
we  have  had  a  charming  meal.  [Thomas  to  his  daugh- 
ter.] Come,  Betsy,  my  dear,  it  is  your  turn  to  give 
thanks. 

Betty  to  the  daughter.  Don't  be  ashamed,  my  good 
child;  but  let  Mr.  Littleworth  hear  how  well  you  can 
say  your  thanksgiving  hymn.  [The  daughter  says 
her  hymn.] 

The  beasts  of  the  fields,  and  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
Are  kept  by  thy  povv'r,  and  fed  by  thy  care; 
Thy  merciful  providence,  faithfully  nigh. 
Sustains  the  poor  ravens  whenever  they  cry! 

But  they  cannot  praise  thee;  they  know  not  from  whom 
The  streams  that  they  drink  and  their  sustenance  come: 
Far  wiser  may  we  be,  and  thankfully  own, 
That  all  our  supplies  are  from  Jesus  alone. 

Far.  There's  a  brave  girl;  here  is  sixpence  be- 
tween you  and  your  brother,  for  saying  his  grace  be- 
fore dinner;  and  when  you  lie-in,  Betty,  I  will  re- 
member you. 

Tho.  The  Lord  bless  you,  sir,  with  his  grace, 
for  your  kindness.  But  you  would  have  me  tell  you 
how  we  live;  and,  to  my  mind,  you  would  not  think 
we  do  right  if  we  were  to  neglect  our  chapter  and 
our  prayer  because  you  are  here.  Betty's  a  good 
scholar;  and  I  have  a  little  pride  in  me  that  people 
should  know  how  bravely  she  can  read.  [Betty 
takes  down  the  Bible,  reads  the  latter  part  of  the  14th 
chapter  of  St.  Luke.] 

Thomas  to  Betty.  Can't  you  remember,  my  dear, 
what  a  wonderful  sermon  our  minister  made  against 
all  these  sad  excuses;  how  that  a  man  could  not  pur- 


38 


VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 


chase  a  piece  of  ground,  buy  a  few  cattle,  have  a 
little  trade,  or  marry  a  wife,  but  out  of  all  these 
things,  innocent  in  themselves,  they  could  find  an  ex- 
cuse to  neglect  their  salvation,  and  despise  the  mar- 
riage-supper of  the  gospel! 

Thomas  then  offers  up  a  short  prayer:   prays  for 
the  King,  and  his  favourite,  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor, for  sending  them  Mr.  Lovegood;  and  that 
God  would  bless  his  ministry  to  them:  and,  af- 
ter some  other  petitions,  prays  affectionately  for 
his  master  and  his  family.     The  Farmer  gets  up 
much   affected; — turns   to   the  window^ — stifles 
his  concern — wipes  his  eyes,  and  says — 
Far.  Thomas,  Pd  give  the  world  to  be  as  good   a 
man  as  you  are:  and   that   my   wife   was  as  good  a 
woman  as  your  Betty.     Well,  well,  I  will  pluck  up 
courage,  and  come  and   hear  Mr.    Lovegood    next 
Sunday,  come  what  will  of  it;  and  Pll  try  to   bring 
my  daughter  Nance  with  me,  for  she  does  not  seem 
to  be  so  bad  set  against  Mr.  Lovegood  as  the  others; 
but  I  know  1  shall  hear  enough  of  it  from  Mr.  Do- 
little  and  my  neighbours. 

Tfio.  1  wonder  that  gentleman  should  say  such  hard 
things,  wherever  he  goes,  against  our  good  minister, 
and  that  he  should  so  often  preach  against  him  as  a 
hypocrite  and  over -righteous  ^ihusist;  surely,  it  is 
out  of  ignorance.  The  Lord  open  his  eyes!  But  I 
am  a  few  minutes  beyond  the  time  of  labour.  Come, 
Thomas,  my  boy,  let  us  be  gone,  Mr.  Littleworth 
wants  to  be  at  home. 

Far.  Farewell,  Thomas. 

Tlio.  and  Betty.  The  Lord  bless  you,  sir,  for  vour 
kindness. 


DIALOGUE  IV, 


THE   CHURCH  DEFENDED  AGAINST  FALSE 
FRIENDS  AND  INTERNAL  ENEMIES. 


THE    REV.    MR.     DOLITTLEj     FARMER     LITTLEWORTH 
AND  HIS  FAMILY. 

We  left  the  Farmer  much  struck  and  aflected  by  Tho- 
mas Newman's  conversation  and  prayer.  On  the 
next  Sunday  afternoon,  he  and  his  daughter  Nan- 
cy attended  at  Brookfield  Church,  after  he  had 
been  at  Mapleton  Church  on  the  morning.  He 
received  the  Word  with  solemn  surprise,  and  was 
soon  melted  into  tears.  Thomas  immediatel}^ 
caught  Mr.  Littleworth's  eye,  and  began  to  mingle 
the  sympathetic  tear  with  his.  Mr.  Lovegood's 
looks  were  directed  that  way;  and  he  was  so 
overpowered  at  the  scene,  that  for  awhile  he  could 
scarcely  continue  his  discourse.  Mr.  Lovegood's 
engaging  and  affectionate  style  of  preaching  had 
frequently  a  great  effect  on  his  auditory;  and  re- 
markably so  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  when  the 
Farmer  first  attended.  Nor  was  the  conversation 
less  affecting  between  Thomas  and  his  Master 
when  the  service  was  ended.  He  was  at  once  dis- 
armed of  all  his  prejudices,  and  mingled  almost 
every  word  with  a  tear.  Miss  Nancy's  mind  be- 
gan also  to  open  to  receive  the  truth,  if  in  a  less 
rapid,  yet  not  in  a  less  gracious  manner. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  own  house,  Mrs.  Littleworth 
conceived  he  had  heard  some  very  bad  news,  and 
begged  to  know  what  it  was.    He  said,  it  was  very 


40  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

good  news.  The  question  was  naturally  asked, 
if  he  had  heard  any  thing  about  Henry,  their  son? 
The  Farmer  began  to  explain  the  nature  of  the 
good  news,  or  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  he  had 
been  hearing  at  Brookfield  Church,  mixing  each 
word  Avith  a  tear.  The  wife  and  daughters,  Nan- 
cy excepted,  began  at  once  to  suspect  that  his 
brains  would  be  turned;  and  that  the  peace  of  the 
family  would  be  ruined  by  his  neio  religion. 

No  opposition  from  that  quarter,  however,  prevent- 
ed the  Farmer  and  Miss  Nancy  from  giving  all 
possible  diligence  to  attend  the  means  of  grace. — 
His  visits  to  Thomas  Newman  were  now  almost 
as  constant  as  each  returning  day;  who  soon  intro- 
duced him  into  Mr.  Lovegood's  company.  Mr. 
Lovegood  put  into  his  hands  several  profitable 
books  for  his  private  instruction;  which  he  read 
with  great  attention  and  diligence,  and  through 
his  now  constant  attendance,  twice  every  Sabbatli, 
and  oftentimes  on  Mr.  Lovegood's  Week-day  Lec- 
ture, he  being  a  man  of  an  intelligent  mind,  though 
but  poorly  educated,  began  to  grow  in  grace,  and 
divine  knowledge  very  considerably. 

The  family,  however,  were  terribly  perplexed  at  the 
change:  and,  after  they  had  said  all  in  their  pow- 
er to  dissuade  him  against  his  new  notions  in  re- 
ligion, concluded,  it  might  be  the  best  plan  to  call 
in  Mr.  Dolittle  to  their  aid.  Happily,  however, 
for  the  Farmer,  his  mind  began  to  be  well-settled 
and  grounded  in  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel  be- 
fore this  visit  took  place.  Mrs.  Littleworth  and 
Miss  Polly,  however,  called  at  Mr.  Dolittle's,  one 
market-day,  and  invited  him  to  come  and  see  what 
could  be  done.  Soon  afterwards  he  rode,  one  af- 
ternoon, according  to  his  promise,  to  the  Farmer's 
house;  and  the  conversation,  as  it  then  took  place, 
shall  next  be  laid  before  the  reader. 


DIALOGUE  IV.  41 

J\fr.  Dolitlle.  Well,  Master  Littlevvorth,  how  are 
you  ?  I  was  afraid  you  were  ill  of  the  gout,  for  I 
have  not  seen  you  at  church  above  these  three  months. 

Farmer.  I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  in- 
quiries; but,  I  thank  God,  of  late  I  have  been  better 
than  usual. 

Dolit.  How  is  it  then,  sir,  that  you  have  been  so 
remiss  in  your  duty  in  not  attending  church? 

Far.  Oh,  no,  sir;  I  have  not  neglected  church; 
for  1,  and  my  daughter  Nance,  have  lately  been  to  hear 
Mr.  Lovegood. 

Dolil.  So  I  have  heard,  sir;  and,  in  a  little  while 
longer,  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  were  to  drive  both 
of  you  mad,  by  his  enthusiastic  harangues. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  did  you  ever  hear  him? 

JDolit.  I  hear  him!  No,  sir;  noi*  shall  I  ever  dis- 
grace my  character  by  attending  such  modern  se- 
ducers. 

Far.  Did  you  ever  talk  to  him,  sir? 

Dolit.  I  talk  to  him!  no;  nor  will  any  other  ra- 
tional clergyman  hold  conversation  with  such  sort  of 
fellows. 

Far.  "  Does  our  law  judge  any  man  before  it  hears 
him?" 

Dolit.  0  sir!  this  is  bringing  matters  to  a  fine 
pass;  you  can  quote  scripture  against  your  minister 
already. 

Far.  Now,  Mr.  Dolittle,  it  is  not  fit  that  either  you 
or  I  should  put  ourselves  out  of  temper  while  we  are 
talking  about  religion:  but  if  yon  will  be  so  iiind  as 
to  come  in  and  sit  down,  and  drink  a  dish  of  tea,  I 
should  be  glad  to  talk  matters  over  with  you;  and, 
if  I  am  wrong,  the  Lord  direct  you  to  set  me  right! 

Dolit.  No,  Mr.  Littlevvorth;  while  j^ou,  as  church- 
warden, can  act  as  3^ou  do,  and  can  set  such  an  ex- 
ample as  to  leave  your  own  parish-church,  and  run 
rambling  after  such  sort  of  teachers,  I  shall  not  think 

VOL.   I. 5 


42  VILLAGE  DIALOGU.,  S. 


it  proper  to  darken  your  doors  any  more.  If  you 
had  gone  to  the  meetins;  after  old  Dr.  Dronish,  it 
would  not  have  been  half  so  bad;  for,  I  am  told,  he 
preaches  good,  sober,  moral  sermons;  but  to  run 
rambling  after  such  wild  enthusiasts,  is  loo  bad. 

Mrs.  Litlleivorth.  But,  sir,  if  you  will  not  drink 
tea  with  my  husband,  yet,  I  hope,  you  will  stop  for 
my  sake,  and  my  daughters;  for  his  new  notions  in 
religion  are  as  bad  a  grief  to  us  as  they  can  be  to  you. 

Dolit.  x\h,  Mrs.  Littlevvorth,  I  pity  you  to  my 
heart!  It  is  amazing  how  much  the  peace  and  com- 
fort of  people's  families  are  broken  up  by  these  reli- 
gious disputes. 

Far.  Well,  sir,  if  you  won't  accept  the  invitation 
from  me,  you  are  quite  as  welcome  to  accept  it  from 
my  wife  and  daughters;  neither  does  religion,  nor 
Mr.  Lovegood,  teach  me  to  be  rude  or  uncivil  to  my 
neighbours;  so  that  such  disputes  cannot  be  laid  to 
the  charge  of  religion,  but  on  those  who  oppose  it. 
I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  walk  in  and  sit 
down,  that  we  may  talk  matters  over  in  a  Christian- 
like manner;  and  while  I  answer  for  myself,  if  I  should 
in  any  wise  speak  unmannerly,  I'll  beg  your  pardon. 

Dollt.  Well,  sir,  this  is  fair.  I  am  apt  to  be  a  little 
hasty,  I  confess;  but  you  must  not  impute  this  to  the 
badness  of  my  heart. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  to  m}?-  humble  way  of  thinking,  all 
that  comes  out  of  us,  which  is  bad,  comes  from  some- 
thing that  is  bad  within  us.  But  pray,  come  in,  sir? 
[calls 'his  daughter  Polly.]  Where  is  Sam?  Tell  him 
to  take  Mr.  Dolittle's  horse,  put  him  in  the  stable, 
and  give  him  a  lock  of  hay,  and  a  good  feed  of  corn. 

[Mr.  Dolittle  comes  in;  a  are  is  lighted  in  the  best 
parlour,  and  tea  is  brought  in ;  but  no  one  appears 
but  Mrs.  Littlevvorth  and  Miss  Nancy  to  wait  on  the 
Rector.] 


DIALOGUE  IV.  43 

Far.  Why,  Nancy,  where  are  your  sisters? 

iMiss  J^fancy.  1'hey  jjre  gone  up  stairs  to  dress. 

Fa7\  To  dress!  Why,  were  they  not  dressed  be- 
fore Mr.  Dolittle  came?  Now,  all  this  they  got  by 
going  to  that  boarding-school.  They  can't  make  you 
a  dish  of  tea  without  putting  on  some  new-fashioned 
gown,  or  new-fangled  cap,  and  some  other  nonsenses. 
1  hope,  sir,  you  will  talk  to  them  for  their  pride;  I 
cannot  see  the  sense  of  such  ceremonies  in  our  way 
of  living. 

Dolil.  Perhaps  not,  sir,  but  young  ladies  will  have 
their  foibles.  [Their  appearance  in  a  gaudy,  taudry 
dress,  prevents  any  farther  conversation  on  that  sub- 
ject.] 

Dalit,  continues.  Now,  sir,  I  am  ready  to  hear  what 
has  made  you  change  your  religion,  and  w^hy  you 
have  left  your  parish-church. 

Far.  Well,  sir,  as  near  as  I  can.  Til  tell  you  all 
about  it.  When  my  father  sent  me  a  courting  to  my 
present  wife,  (Farmer  Greedy 's  daughter,)  after  we 
had  made  a  match  of  it,  we  put  our  fortunes  together, 
and  I  bought  the  lease  of  my  farm  of  the  late  Lord 
Rakish,  who  was  as  loild  a  blade  as  the  present  Lord 
that  now  is;  and  as  he  wanted  money,  they  say,  his 
steward  received  a  sly  sum  of  my  wife's  father,  that 
we  might  have  a  better  bargain;  but  of  this  1  have 
no  certain  knowledge. 

Dollt.  I  doubt,  there  are  too  many  of  these  sly  bar- 
gains made;  but  what  has  this  to  do  with  your  change 
in  religion  ? 

Far.  Why,  having  got  such  a  good  bargain,  no 
world  for  m.e  like  the  present;  my  heart  was  set 
upon  it.  I  could  be  up  early  and  late,  about  from  fair 
to  fair,  that.  I  might  buy  and  sell,  and  get  gain;  and 
this  I  foolishly  called  the  main  chance:  but  as  for  my 
Bible  and  prayer,  and  the  concerns  of  my  precious 


44  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

soul,  I  had  no  more  regard  to  these  things  than  a 
beast 

Dolit.  And  pray,  where  was  the  sin  of  this?  Should 
not  every  young  man  mind  what  he  is  at  when  he 
takes  a  large  concern  ?  But  if  you  did  not  do  your 
duty  in  saying  your  prayers^  and  attending  your 
church,  that  was  your  own  fault. 

Far.  Yes,  sir;  these  things,  as  they  respect  my 
worldly  concerns,  "I  should  have  done,  and  not  left 
the  other  undone."  But  that  was  not  my  case,  for  I 
was  as  wicked  as 

Dolit.  Hold,  Mr.  Littleworth;  for  it  has  been  told 
me,  that  when  the  Bishop  came  about  to  confirm  in 
those  days,  no  young  man  appeared  so  decent,  and  so 
devout,  as  you  then  were;  and  that,  for  some  time 
afterwards,  you  attended  church  and  sacrament  very 
regular]}^;  and  if,  since  then,  you  have  been  a  little 
remiss  in  your  duty,  yet  it  is  to  be  hoped  you  will 
remember  in  due  time,  properly  to  return  to  it,  and 
that  you  will  die  a  good  man;  and  it  cannot  be  ex- 
pected that  people  should  be  so  strict  in  religion  while 
they  have  to  rise  in  the  world. 

Far.  Ah!  1  well  remember,  when  the  old  Bishop 
came  round  our  parts  in  those  days,  how  Mr.  Blind- 
man,  in  whose  parish  I  then  lived,  told  us,  that  our 
Godfathers  and  Godmothers  were  to  answer  for  what 
we  had  done  before;  but  that,  after  we  were  con- 
firmed, we  were  all  to  stand  upon  our  own  bottom:  and 
this  frightened  me  desperate  for  awhile;  and  away  I 
went  and  bought  myself  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man, 
Nelson's  Fast  and  Festivals,  the  New  Week's  Pre- 
paration, and  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying;  and 
for  about  two  months,  in  my  way,  I  kept  to  my  re- 
ligion very  strict;  till  just  about  that  time  the  old 
Lord  Rakish  would  have  a  merry-making,  because 
his  son  came  of  age:  and  many  a  resolution  I  made 
that  1  would  not  go  after  such  nonsenses;  but  when  I 


DIALOGUE   IV.  45 

was  told  that  young  Parson  Purblind,  JNIr.  Blind- 
man's  curate,  was  riding  by  with  some  otl.er  young 
sparks  of  the  day,  who  were  going  there,  I  thought, 
for  sure,  parsons  must  know  better  than  I,  and  that 
there  could  be  no  great  harm  if  I  went  too.  So,  be- 
cause I  would  not  make  myself  particular,  away  I 
went,  and  there  I  got  deadly  drunk;  and  as  1  came 
home,  I  fell  off  m}'  horse.  (Lord  have  n:iercy  on  me, 
had  I  died  in  that  state!)  But,  after  that,  I  was 
ashamed  to  think  of  my  religion;  and  as  to  my  books 
of  devotion,  I  soon  laid  them  all  aside;  and  to  this 
day  they  are  quite  as  fresh  as  though  they  were  just 
bought  out  of  the  bookseller's  shop:  and  there  was 
an  end  to  all  my  religion  till  1  heard  Mr.  Lovegood. 
Dolit.  Well,  but  Mr.  Littleworth,  as  you  have  got 
these  good  books  still  by  you,  why  can't  you  in  mo- 
deralion,  again  take  to  religion,  and  do  your  duty, 
without  taking  up  this /leif?  way? 

Far.  VVh}^,  sir,  to  speak  the  truth,  I  have  not  till 
of  late  discovered  that  the  heart,  the  scat  of  all  my 
actions,  is  "deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately 
wicked;"  and  that  till  God  sets  that  right,  nothing 
can  or  will  be  right.  This  has  been  the  cause  why 
this  world,  which  I  must  now  soon  leave,  was  all  my 
delight,  while  my  heart  neither  knew  God,  nor  de- 
sired to  know  him.  Sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  a 
wicked,  worldly,  negligent  sinner  I  have  been  all  the 
days  of  my  life!     [Farmer  weeps.] 

Jllrs.  Lit.  Now,  only  see,  sir,  how  mopish  and 
melancholy  these  new  notions  in  religion  have  made 
my  husband!  I  am  afraid,  at  times,  he'll  lose  his 
senses! 

Dolit.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Littleworth,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  your  husband;  he  is  a  good-hearted  man  at  bottom. 
Do  you  never  try  to  divert  him  ? 

Jlliss  Polly.  Divert  him,  sir!  Why,  when  my  uncle 
and  aunt,  and  two  of  our  cousins,  came  to  see  us  the 
5* 


46  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

other  day,  (we  always  used  to  have  a  little  harmless 
mirth)  only,  because  my  mother,  and  Patty,  and  I 
proposed  to  have  a  game  or  two  of  cards,  away  my 
father  and  sister  Nancy  ran  out  of  the  house,  as 
thouf^h  it  had  been  on  fire;  and  down  they  went  to 
Mr.  Lovegood's  and  said  prayers ! 

Far.  Now  do,  sir,  hear  me  patiently.  Thus  have 
I  lived,  "  without  God  in  the  world,"  neglectful  of 
my  precious  soul,  and  forgetful  of  Christ,  my  only 
Saviour,  till  I  am  turned  of  sixty.  I  am  ashamed  to 
say  what  a  sinner  I  have  been,  and  how  unfit  1  am  to 
die! 

Dolit.  Well,  but  Mr.  Littleworth,  why  should  you 
run  from  one  extreme  to  another?  you  know  the 
old  proverb,  "Extremes  are  dangerous;"  and  there 
is  moderation  in  all  things:  and,  you  know  I  have  a 
sermon  on  that  text, — "  Let  your  moderation  be 
known  unto  all  men." 

Far.  Why,  sir,  you  have  been  our  justice  these 
eleven  years;  and  when  bad  people  are  brought  be- 
fore you,  I  am  sure  you  do  much  better  in  your  of- 
fice tlian  to  preach  up  to  them  such  sort  of  modera- 
tion. You  never  tell  thieves  that  they  should  be 
moderalelif  honest;  or  drunkards  (and  the  Lord  knows 
we  have  enough  of  then))  that  they  should  be  mo- 
derately  sober;  or  the  many  bad  people  that  throw 
themselves  upon  our  parish,  for  the  support  of  their 
base-born  children,  that  they  should  be  moderately 
chaste;  and  no  such  words  did  I  ever  hear  from  your 
pulpit,  as  that  men  should  be  moderately  moral.  Now, 
if  this  is  not  to  be  allowed  in  morality,  how  are  we  to 
make  it  out  in  religion,  when  we  are  commanded  to 
"  love  the  Lord  with  all  our  heart,  mind,  soul,  and 
strength  ?"  Does  it  mean,  that  we  are  to  have  a  mo- 
derate love  to  God  ?  and  when  we  are  enjoined  to  love 
our  neighbour  as  ourselves,  does  it  mean  a  moderate 
love  to  mankind?     And  pray,  sir,  should  I  repent 


DIALOGUE  IV.  47 

moderately,  pray  moderately,  and  have  a  moderate 
trust  in  God?  If  so,  I  really  cannot  understand  the 
Scriptures,  which  say,  that  I  ann  to  "  give  all  dili- 
gence to  nnake  my  calling  and  election  sure;"  that 
rehgion  "is  the  one  thing  needful,"  for  which  I  am 
to  "forsake  all  that  1  have,  that  I  may  be  Christ's 
disciple;"  and  that  I  must  strive  (or,  as  Mr.  Love- 
good  says,  it  means  agonize)  to  enter  in  at  the  straight 
gate. 

Dolit.  You  need  not  be  so  critical,  sir;  I  only 
mean,  you  shall  not  be  so  over-zealous  in  religion. 

Far.  Why,  1  confess,  as  1  have  lately  taken  to  read 
my  Bible,  I  think  it  is  there  said,  "It  is  good  to  be 
zealously  affected  in  a  good  thing." 

Dolit.  Now  this  is  too  bad,  JNIr.  Littleworth.  Don't 
you  think  1  know  the  Bible  as  well  as  you?  Ring 
the  bell,  Miss  Polly.  I  sha'n't  stop  here  any  longer 
to  be  told  my  duty,  when  I  have  been  so  long  minis- 
ter of  this  parish. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  telling 
you  your  duty:  I  only  meant  to  observe,  that  I  could 
not  understand  what  5'ou  meant  about  moderation  in 
religion;  but  if  I  pressed  the  point  too  far,  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  it. 

Dolit.  Well,  sir,  I  have  before  said,  I'll  keep  my 
temper  if  I  can;  but  this  cannot  be  done,  unless  you 
keep  up  proper  manners  while  you  choose  to  talk  to 
me  about  your  new  religion. 

Far.  Well,  sir,  as  to  my  new  religion,  as  you  call 
it,  I  do  really  confess,  since  I  have  heard  Mr.  Love- 
good,  my  thoughts  about  these  matters  are  wonder- 
fully altered;  and  I  will  tell  you  in  the  most  man- 
nerly fashion  in  my  power,  how  it  came  about.  You 
know,  I  have  an  honest  fellow  works  with  me,  Tho- 
mas Newman;  and  it  is  to  admiration  what  a  sober, 
orderly,  decent,  Christian-like  man  he  is!  and  his 
wife  is  the  nicest,  tidiest  woman  1  ever  met  with  in 


48  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

all  iny  born  days:  and  at  different  times,  wlien  I 
talked  to  him,  1  found  that  he  had  not  only  religion 
in  his  practice,  but  his  Bible  nl  his  finger's  ends.  How 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  ignorance  when  1  heard  him 
talk!  But  ihis  made  m.e  determine  to  go  to  hear  what 
sort  of  a  parson  he  so  much  admired;  for  I  remem- 
ber the  time  when  he  was  wild  enough. 

Dolit.  Truly,  Mr.  l^ittleworth,  it  is  a  fine  compli- 
ment to  me,  that  j^ou  should  go  to  one  of  your  day- 
labourers  to  be  instructed  in  religion. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  say,  that 
though  learning  is  a  good  thing,  yet  it  does  not  al- 
ways make  a  good  man;  and  that  a  poor  man  may 
have  the  grace  of  God  in  his  heart,  without  having 
much  learning  in  his  head.  And  did  not  our  Lord 
mean  something  of  the  same  kind,  when  he  said,  "  I 
thank  thee,  0  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  that 
thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  pru- 
dent, and  revealed  them  unto  babes!" 

Dolit.  And  so  all  the  time  and  money  that  we  have 
been  spending  at  the  universit}^,  has  been  of  no  sort  of 
service;  and  every  ignorant  enthusiast  that  pretends 
to  inspiration,  is  to  tell  us  the  meaning  of  the  Bible. 

Far.  M^as!  sir,  did  I  speak  against  human  learn- 
ing? It  is  well  known  that  Mr.  Lovegood  is  one  of 
the  learnedest  men  for  twenty  miles  round;  though  I 
have  heartl  him  say.  That  human  learning,  to  a  man 
spiritually  blind,  does  no  more  good  than  a  lighted 
candle  does  to  a  man  that  is  naturally  blind:  and,  I 
dare  say,  sir,  when  you  read  the  Homilies,  you  re- 
member these  words,  *' Man's  human  and  worldly 
wisdom  or  sense,  is  not  needful  to  ihe  understanding 
of  the  Scriptures,  but  the  revelation  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  which  inspireth  the  true  meaning 
into  them  that  with  humility  a>'d  diligence 
DO   SEARCH   THEREFOR."  * — And   the    Lord    grant 

*  Homily  on  reading  the  Scriptures. 


DIALOGUE  IV.  49 

that  1  may  have  a  little  of  that  blessed  inspiration! 
for  I  am  sure  we  need  it, ' 

Dolit.  Now,  1  am  sure,  Mr.  Littleworth,  you  must 
have  misrepresented  their  words;  I  never  can  believe 
that  they  wrote  so  enthusiastically  as  all  that. 

Far.  No  indeed,  sir;  they  are  just  as  fresh,  and 
as  pat  in  my  memory,  as  though  I  had  read  them  but 
yesterday.  But  so  it  was,  sir,  that  Thomas's  good 
life  and  talk  made  me  determine  to  go  and  hear  Mr. 
Lovegood;  and  my  daughter  Nance  went  with  me; 
and  when  I  came  to  the  church,  I  prayed  to  the  Lord, 
that  as  he  had  made  Thomas  so  good  a  man,  so  I 
might  be  made  a  better  man;  for  I  am  sure  there  was 
room  for  me  to  mend:  and  a  fine  sermon  he  made 
(all  off  hand)  from  these  words,  "  You  cannot  serve 
God  and  Mammon." 

Dolit.  And  pray,  sir,  why  could  not  my  sermons, 
as  well  as  his,  have  made  you  a  better  man?  I  know 
that  such  extemporaneous  effusions  please  ignorant 
and  vulgar  minds,  that  are  fond  of  gaping  after  no- 
velty; but  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  sound  and  sober 
sermons  I  have  been  preaching  among  you,  ever  since 
I  have  been  your  rector. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  did  I  find  fault  with  you,  or  any 
one  else]  I  was  only  about  to  tell  you  how  I  was  struck 
with  Mr.  Lovegood's  sermon;  for  I  certainly  thought 
he  made  it  all  for  me:  and  I  actually  asked  Thomas 
if  he  had  not  been  telling  him  about  me.  But  he 
declared  he  could  not  have  been  so  bold  to  his  minis- 
ter against  his  master;  and  then  he  said  to  me,  that 
Mr.  Lovegood  could  tell  any  one's  heart  from  the 
knowledge  he  had  of  his  own,  and  the  word  of 
God. 

Dolif.  Why,  then,  I  suppose  when  all  other  trades 
fail,  he'll  turn  fortune-teller  ? 

Far.  I  cannot  say  as  to  that,  sir,  though,  I  am 
sure,  he  told  my  fortune  plain  enough  that  day;  for 


50  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

I  thought  he  liirnecl  me  inside  out,  while  he  showed 
me  wliat  a  fallen  worldly-minded  creaiure  I  was. 

Dolit.  Yes;  and  all  these  preachers  run  on  just  in 
the  same  way.  If  any  of  us  step  a  little  aside,  we  are 
to  hear  of  nothing  but  hell  and  damnation;  and  for 
every  innocent  infirmity,  man  is  to  be  painted  out  as 
black  as  the  Devil. 

Far.  Wh}',  sir,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  both  the 
Bible,  and  Common  Prayer-13ook,and  the  Articles  of 
Religion,  just  say  the  same;  and  they  say,  all  you 
clergy  subscribe  to  then^  a  many  times  over  before 
you  come  to  your  livings. 

Airs.  Lit.  Yes,  sir,  and  my  husband  has  brought 
home  such  a  heap  of  books  and  prayers  from  his  new 
parson  about  the  articles  and  homkles,  I  think  he  calls 
them,  and  Common  Prayer  Book!  Then  he  tells 
us,  that-his  is  the  old  religion  of  the  church;  and  he 
wants  to  read  all  these  books  over  to  us.  He  has 
got  a  book  of  prayers  made  by  an  old  Bishop,*  that 
he  says^  was  of  his  way  of  thinking:  and  now  wants 
us  to  kneel  down,  to  say  prayers  to  us,  before  we  go 
to  bed.  But  how  can  we  have  time  for  all  these  de- 
votions in  our  way  of  living.'' 

Dolit.  Wh\^,  you  are  very  right  there,  Mrs.  Little- 
worth.  If  you  do  your  duty  well  on  a  Sunday,  and 
have  a  family  prayer  on  a  Sunday  evening;  and  say 
some  good  rational  prayers  to  yourselves  before  you 
go  to  ^ed  on  a  week-day,  God  Almighty,  who  is  very 
merciful,  and  forbids  us  to  be  righteous  overmuch, 
cannot  expect  more  from  you,  in  your  line  of  life. 

JMiss  Polly.  There,  Father!  I  hope  you  will  be 
guided  by  what  Mr.  Dolittle  says,  and  not  be  led  so 
much  by  your  homicles  ^nd  new  religion. 

Dolit.  Why,  Mr.  Littlevvorth,  you  know  I  spent 
many  years  at  Oxford;  and  there,  I'll  assure  you,  I 
was  not  inattentive  to  the  study  of  divinity  under  Dr. 

*  Bishop  Hall's  Manual. 


DIALOGUE  IV.  51 

Blunderbuss,  a  man  of  approved   religion   in  those 
days  (thoi]o;h  since  then  I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Bright- 
inan,  and  some  others,   who  have  adopted  your  no- 
tions of  religion:)   yet  it  was  not  only  his  opinion, 
but  that  of  many  other  learned  and  orthodox  divines, 
thatt  though  our  reformers  were  well-meaning  men, 
yet  they  were   not  over-wise   in  religion:  and  that 
though  religion,  in  Ihe  opinion  of  some,  is  now   less 
practised,  yet  it  is  more  improved;  for  we  live  in  a 
very  learned  day.     And  our  clergy  now-a-da3's  don't 
confine  themselves  to  a  few  abstruse  notions  of  those 
old  divines,  but  make  their  sermons  out  of  a  variety 
of  the  most  excellent  moral  writings  that  ever  were 
composed,  from  among  those   we  call   heathens,  but 
who  had  a   deal   of  the  light  of  nature,  and   knew 
much    about    natural   religion,  and   they  make    the 
Bible  much  more  intelligible.     Master  Littleworth, 
if  I  may  give  my  advice,  1  would  not  wish  you  to  be 
over-nice,  nor  over-wise  in  your  religion.      Do  your 
duty  as  w^ell  as  you  can;  and  if  you  fail,  trust  in  the 
Almighty's  mercies.      The   rational  clergy,  in  our 
day,  know  very  well   that  there  is  a  new  sect,  who 
puzzle  people's  minds  about  the   terms  original  sin, 
the  atontment,  regeneration,  imputed  righteousness,  and 
I  know  not  what  notions   besides,  which  1  am  sure 
you  need    not  mind,   provided   you  do   your   duty 
without   affecting  to  be   more  righteous   than  your 
neighbours.     However  Mr.  Lovegood  may  pretend 
to  be  wiser  than  the  rest  of  us,  yet,if  you  will  take  our 
advice,  according  to  the  Scriptures,  and  *•'  do  justice, 
love  mercy,  and  walk  humbly  with  your  God,"  I 
am  sure  you  need  not  fear.     To    be  sure,  sir,  you 
have  not  forgot  my  sermon   on  that  text,  which  I 
have  never  failed   preaching   to  you,  year  by  year, 
ever  since  I  was  inducted  into  the  living;. 

Far.  Ah!   but,  sir,  that  very  text  cuts  me  quite 
iip5  for   first,  I  confess  the  many  tricks  and  fibs  I 


52  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

have  been  guilty  of  at  market;  so  tliat  I  have  not 
done  justly:  and  I  have  been  as  bad  at  nrierc}^,  for  I 
always  loved  myself  better  than  my  poor  neigh- 
bours: and  then,  with  regard  to  walking  humbly 
with  my  God,  never  did  any  man  strut  about  at 
market  like  a  hrai^iradocia  more  than  I  have  done: 
and  as  to  humbling  myself  before  God  in  prayer,  or 
by  repentance,  I  was  as  ignorant  of  these  things  as  I 
am  of  the  learning  of  an  Oxford  scholltird.  As  for 
our  articles,  homilies,  and  prayer  book,  let  folks  be 
ever  so  wise  and  learned  now-a-days,  they  seem  to  me 
to  have  been  made  by  men  wonderfully  knowing  in 
the  Scriptures:  for  they  not  only  explain  to  us  what 
hearts  we  have  by  nature;  but  how  mercifully  we 
poor  sinners  are  to  be  saved,  through  Jesus  Christ 
our  only  Redeemer.  And  it  is  all  laid  out  to  ad- 
miration in  a  little  book,  given  me  by  Mr.  Love- 
good,  called  "The  Good  Old  Way;"  and  it  was 
there  that  I  think  I  sec  my  picture  just  as  it  is  in 
the  9th  article,  on  the  P'all  of  Man ;  where  it  is  said, 
in  a  wonderful  wise  way,  that  "JEver}^  man,  of  his 
own  nature,  is  inclined  to  evil;  and  that  every  per- 
son born  into  this  world,  deserves  God's  wrath  and 
damnation.'' 

JVlrs.  Lit.  There,  sir;  this  is  the  way  my  husband 
would  be  talking,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  if  we 
chose  to  hear  him,  in  his  uncharitable  vvay,  about  all 
of  us  deserving  God's  wrath  and  damnation. 

Dolil.  But,  Mr.  Littleworth,  if  we  are  not  quite  so 
good  as  we  should  be  in  our  present  laps' d  state,  we 
may  all  make  ourselves  better,  if  we  please. 

Far.  Why,  sir,  it  appears  to  me  that  "men  choose 
darkness  rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds  are 
evil;"  and  that  no  bad  man  can  have  a  good  clioice, 
or  will,  till  God  changes  the  heart:  and  though  I 
cannot  say  any  thing  as  to  the  learning  of  the  old 
men  that  made  our  church-books,  yet  to  me  it  ap- 


DIALOGUE  IV.  53 

pears  sure  and  certain,  as  they  say  in  the  next  ar- 
ticle, That  the  condition  of  man,  after  the  fall  of 
Adam,  is  such,  that  he  cannot  turn  and  prepare  himself 
by  his  own  natural  strength  and  good  works,  to  faith 
and  calling  upon  God;  wherefore,  we  have  no  power 
to  do  good  works  pleasant  and  acceptable  to  God, 
"without  the  grace  of  God,  by  Christ,  preventing 
us,  that  we  may  have  a  good-will,  and  working  with 
us  when  we  have  that  good- will.''  And  though,  I 
confess,  I  have  not  minded  the  prayers  so  much  as  I 
should  have  done,  yet  I  remember  having  heard  you 
say  from  the  desk,  "Almighty  God,  who  sceth  we 
have  no  poicer  of  ourselves  to  help  ourselves;  and  that, 
through  the  weakness  of  our  mortal  natures,  we  can 
do  no  good  thing  without  God;  and  the  frailty  of  man 
without  God,  cannot  but  faiV  And  I  remember, 
when  my  school-mistress  taught  me  the  catechism, 
she  used  to  say  to  me,  "  My  good  child,  know  this, 
that  thou  art  not  able  to  do  these  things  of  thyself, 
nor  to  walk  in  the  commandments  of  God,  and  serve 
him,  without  his  special  grace.^^ 

Dolit.  VVhy,  if  you  take  all  these  words  in  such  a 
strict  sense,  you  will  make  us  out  to  be  mere  ma- 
chines! and  then  it  is  no  matter  what  we  do,  for  I 
am  sure  there  can  be  no  merit  in  our  goodness. 

Far.  Ah!  why,  sir,  how  can  there  be  any  merit 
in  such  poor  services  as  ours?  I  can't  help  thinking 
with  our  old  folk  in  the  article  of  the  justification  of 
man,  that  "We  are  accounted  righteous  before  God 
only  for  the  merit  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ  by  faith,  and  not  for  our  own  uwrks  or  de- 
servings ;  wherefore,  that  we  are  justified  by  failli 
ONLY,  is  a  most  wholesome  doctrine,  and  very  full 
of  comfort."  And  then  they  tell  us  the  sqme  in  the 
homily  "  of  the  salvation  of  mankind  by  only  Christ 
our  Saviour,^^  in  which  the  doctrine  is  more  largely 
expressed:  and  there  they  give  a  deadly  stroke  at  our 
VOL.  I. — 6 


54  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

pride  in  that  they  say;  "  Because  all  men  be  sin- 
ners against  God,  and  breakers  of  his  law,  therefore 
can  no  man,  hy  his  own  acts,  works,  or  deeds,  seem  they 
never  so  good,  be  justified  and  made  righteous  before 
God;  but  every  man  of  necessity  is  constrained  to 
seek  [or  another  righteousness  for  justification:  our  jus- 
tification doth  come  freely  of  the  mere  mercy  of  God, 
so  that  Christ  is  now  tJic  righteousness  of  all  them  thai 
truly  do  believe  in  him,  for  he  paid  the  ransom  by  his 
death,  he  for  them  fulfilled  the  law  in  his  life.''  And 
then,  sir,  we  may  say  with  a  good  conscience,  "  0 
Lord,  who  seest  we  put  not  our  trust  in  any  thing 
that  we  do."  And  when  I  went  about  two  Sundays 
ago  to  the  holy  sacrament,  at  Mr.  Lovegood's  church, 
and  (to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,)  old  as  I  am,  to  the 
sacrament  I  never  went  before,  excepting  twice  after 
I  was  confirmed;  and  then  we  prayed,  that  God 
would  not  "  weigh  our  merits,  but  pardon  our  of- 
fences;" and  here, — [Mr.  Dolittle  interrupts.] 

Dolit.  Stop,  Mr.  Littleworth,  before  you  tell  us  any 
more  of  the  prayers,  I  must  tell  you,  that  Mr.  Love- 
good  is  liable  to  a  severe  ecclesiastical  censure  for  ad- 
ministering the  sacrament  to  one  of  my  parishioners. 
And — [Farmer  interrupts.] 

Far.  But  as  old  Master  Goodenough  has  left  Mr. 
Lovegood's  parish  to  come  to  your  sacrament,  I  dare 
say  you'll  forgive  him;  and  I  am  sure  he'll  forgive 
you. 

Miss  Polly.  But,  sir,  my  father  talks  so  frivolous 
and,  Hhusiaslically  about  inspiration,  and  says,  that  the 
Bishops,  and  all  the  clergy,  have  declared,  that  they 
were  "inwardly  moved  by  tlie  Holy  Ghost,"  before 
they  went  into  orders;  and  I  have  heard  you  preach 
against  such  'thusiasts  again  and  again.* 

*  Miss  Polly  brought  home  with  her  several  other  hard 
words  from  the  boarding-school,  that  she  never  afterwards 
knew  how  to  digest,  or  to  express. 


DIALOGUE  IV.  55 

Far.  Ah,  Polly, you  should  not  talk  so  pert  to  your 
father!  When  I  could  bluster  about  the  house  as 
once  I  did,  you  did  not  behave  so  unmannerly.  [To 
'INIr.  Dolitlle.]  But  you  know,  sir,  how  very  often 
we  pray  for  the  Spirit  of  God  in  the  prayer-book, 
that  "God  would  grant  us  his  Holy  Spirit;"  that  he 
would  "  cleanse  the  thouorhts  of  our  hearts  by  the  in- 
spiration of  his  Holy  Spirit."  We  pray  for  his  Ma- 
jesty, that  he  may  be  "  replenished  with  the  p;race  of 
the  Holy  Spirit;"  and  that  "all  the  bishops  and  clergy 
may  have  the  healthful  Spirit  of  God's  grace."  And 
at  Christmas  time,  we  pray,  '•  that  we  being  regene- 
rate and  born  again,  and  made  God's  children  by 
adoption  and  grace,  may  be  daily  renewed  by  his 
Holy  Spirit:"  and  in  another  collect,  that  "God 
would  send  to  us  his  Holy  Ghost  to  comfort  us;"  and 
then  in  the  article  of  our  predestination  and  election, 
it  is  said,  that  '•  all  the  elect  feel  in  themselves  the  work- 
ings of  the  Spirit  of  Christ,"  And  in  the  Catechism, 
that  God  "  sanctifies  us,  and  all  the  elect  people  of 
God."  And  in  twenty  more  places  besides,  have  we 
the  same  sort  of  words  and  doctrine.  And  to  me,  it 
seems,  it  would  be  even  foolish  to  pray  at  all,  unless 
we  thought  that  God  would  inspire  into  our  hearts 
the  good  we  pray  for. 

Dolit.  Well,  Master  Littleworth,  if  you  have  done 
preaching  to  me,  it  is  high  time  that  I  should  begin 
preaching  to  you.  1  have  already  observed,  that  our 
reformers  were  good  men,  but  not  over-wise;  and 
that  they  may  have  expressed  themselves  unguarded- 
ly; therefore  many  of  our  divines  of  the  present  day, 
and  Pll  assure  you  most  of  them  are  bishops  or  deans, 
or  other  great  dignitaries,  have  been  at  a  deal  of  pains 
to  put  a  proper  explanation  on  their  words;  and 
though,  I  confess,  they  have  hardly  as  yet  settled  the 
matter  among  themselves,  yet  it  seems  to  amount  to 
this.     Some  of  them  think,  that  our  Reformers  had 


56  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

a  double  meaning  in  all  they  said,  and  that  they  speak 
both  vvays,  for  and  against  the  same  doctrine,  at  the 
same  time.  Others  are  of  opinion,  that  they  had  but 
one  meaninf^,  which  is  to  be  understood  just  the  con- 
trary to  what  they  say.  They  who  are  for  the  double 
meaning  suppose,  that  while  some  are  at  liberty  to 
take  them  in  one  sense,  yet  others  are  at  liberty  also 
to  take  them  in  the  opposite  sense;  and  though,  to  the 
ignorant  and  the  unlearned,  this  may  appear  a  flat 
contradiction  and  nonsense,  yet  many  learned  divines 
have  written  very  ably  on  this  side  of  the  question; 
though  I  confess,  in  my  opinion,  it  gives  too  much 
latitude  to  those  modern  preachers  that  you  are  now 
so  fond  of,  to  preach  up  their  notions;  and  very  spe- 
cious things  to  be  sure,  they  have  to  say,  if  we  let 
this  interpretation  pass.  I  am  rather,  therefore,  of 
the  opinion  of  those  divines  who  have  proved  that 
our  reformers,  when  they  said  one  thing  meant  another. 
And  if  you  please,  sir,  I'll  explain  myself  on  this  sub- 
ject. 

Far.  'Las,  sir,  you  quite  stagger  me!  I  don't  know 
whether  I  stand  upon  my  head  or  my  heels. 

Dalit.  Don't  say  so,  sir,  for  I'll  assure  you  we  are 
serious,  and  we  can  prove  all  this  to  be  very  true  from 
the  logic  some  of  us  brought  from  Oxford,  and  others 
of  us  from  Cambridge.  And  thus,  when  we  read  in 
the  article  about  original,  or  birth-sin,  "  That  it  is  the 
fault  and  corruption  of  the  nature  of  every  man  that 
naturally  is  engendered  of  the  offspring  of  Adam, 
whereby  man  is  very  far*  gone  from  original  righ- 
teousness;" it  is  evidently  to  be  made  out  by  the  rule 
of  reverse;  therefore,  according  to  the  opinion  of  our 
modern  divines,  there  is  a  deal  of  original  inherent 
rectitude  in  man,  if  he  would  but  employ  his  reason, 
and  his  conscience,  to  bring  it  forth. 

*  In  the  original  Latin,  Quam  longissime,  as  far  as  possible. 


DIALOGUE  IV.  57 

Far.  Though  I  dare  not  contradict  the  learned,  yet 
I  am  sure  my  hardened  conscience  and  my  blinded 
reason  never  did  me  any  good. 

JJolit.  You  should  not  have  interrupted  me,  sir, 
till  1  had  finished  what  I  had  to  say;  for  I  must  re- 
mind you  of  what  you  said  about  the  necessity  of 
*' special  grace;"  that  we  have  ^' no  power  of  our- 
selves, to  help  ourselves,"  and  therefore  "of  ourselves 
we  cannot  but  fall;"  that  *'  we  have  no  power  to  do 
works  pleasant  and  acceptable  to  God  without  the 
grace  of  God  by  Christ  preventing  us:"  now  for  want 
of  01/?'  logic,  it  cannot  be  expected  you  can  comprehend 
that  these  expressions  are  to  be  understood  by  the 
same  rule  of  reverse;  and  that  noio  their  proper  mean- 
ing is,  that  there  is  a  deal  of  power  left  in  us,  though 
in  our  lapsed  state;  and  that  nothing  is  wanting,  but 
for  God  to  second  our  good  endeavours;  and  that, 
through  our  own  proper  resolutions  and  endeavours, 
if  duly  attended  to,  we  shall  obtain  the  favour  of  the 
AlmJghty. 

Far.  Why,  then,  sir,  when  I  tell  Sam,  that  he  is 
to  fetch  the  black  horse  out  of  the  stable,  he  must  un- 
derstand he  is  to  bring  me  the  gray  mare.  Why,  I 
am  all  in  amazement  at  this  new  sort  of  laming. 

Mrs.  Utile.  Nancy,  my  dear,  hand  that  fresh  toast 
to  Mr.  Dolittle.  [To  Mr.  Dolittle.]  Perhaps,  sir, 
you  would  like  a  bit  more  with  your  last  dish.  [Miss 
Nancy  directly  takes  it  into  the  kitchen^  and  comes 
back  without  it.] 

jyirs.  Liltle.  Why  Nancy,  child,  what  have  you 
done  with  the  toast? 

J^ancy.  As  you  bade  me,  mother. 

Mrs.  Little.  Why,  I  told  you  to  hand  it  to  Mr. 
Dolittle. 

JS^ancy.  0  yes,  mother;  but  then  by  this  new  rule 
of  reverse,  1  thought  1  was  to  take  it  away,  and  lock 
it  up  in  the  pantry. 

a* 


58  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Dolit.  0,  but  we  are  not  to  adopt  this  rule  of  re- 
verse in  things  temporal,  but  only  in  things  spiritual. 
It  is  upon  this  principle  that  our  divines  have  it  in 
their  power  farther  to  prove,  in  the  justification  of 
man  by  faith  alone,  that  it  means  by  faith  and  good 
ivorks  together;  nor  should  you  pretend  to  be  so  wise 
about  the  matter,  but  humbly  to  leave  it  to  your 
clergy,  and  believe  as  they  direct  you;  for  it  should 
seem  very  strange,  that  after  these  abstruse  divines 
have  puzzled  even  the  most  learned  among  us  about 
"  works  done  beforejustitication,and  works  done  after 
justification,"  that  you  should  be  able  to  understand 
their  meaning. 

Far.  Why  then,  sir,  when  I  say  I  shall  go  alone 
to  Mapleton  market  next  Thursday,  you  are  to  un- 
derstand that  I  mean  to  take  my  wife  and  daughter 
Polly  with  me.  Is  this  the  way  in  which  1  am  to 
chop  this  new-fashioned  logic? 

Dolit,  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Littleworth:  if  you 
can't  "understand,  yet  at  least  you  should  submit  to 
the  learning  of  our  university  divines.  1  fear  you  will 
never  be  reclaimed,  for  you  mentioned  also,  among 
other  subjects,  the  article  upon  our  predestination  and 
election.  Now  all  our  learned  divines  can  prove 
that  article  also  is  to  be  understood  in  a  sense  which 
is  directly  contrary  to  its  plain  meaning;  and  that, 
when  it  is  said,  "  The  godly  consideration  of  our  pre- 
destination in  Christ  is  full  of  sweet,  pleasant,  and 
unspeakable  comfort  to  godly  persons,  and  such  as 
feel  in  ihemselvesthe  workingsof  the  Spiritof  Christ;" 
it  means,  that  it  was  a  very  ungodly  doctrine,  and 
calculated  to  encourage  the  most  licentious  conduct: 
that  the  words  "sweet,  pleasant,and  unspeakable  com- 
fort," now  mean  every  thing  that  is  abominably  de- 
testable and  odious,  and  only  held  forth  by  a  modern 
sect,  now  sunk  into  general  execration.  In  short, 
that  the  predestination  of  some,  means  a  universal 


DIALOGUE  IV.  59 

chance  given  to  all.  And  farther  still,  when  it  is  said, 
"  that  the  elect  of  God  feel  in  themselves  the  workings 
of  the  Spirit  of  Christ,"  we  are  to  understand,  that 
there  are  no  such  feelings  or  influences;  or  that,  if 
there  are,  according  to  an  expression  that  we  are  very 
fond  of  using,  they  must  be  secret  and  imperceptible 
feelings. 

Far.  'Las,  sir,  where  am  I  ?  secret  and  impercep- 
tible feelings! — [Farmer  to  his  wife.]  Why,  dame, 
when  our  son  Harry  would  be  so  wild,  and  when  he 
went  to  sea,  and  you  and  I  used  to  sob  and  cry  to- 
gether night  after  night,  ours  was  not  impercej)tible 
grief.  [To  Mr.  Dolittle.]  And  when  we  repent  of 
sin,  for  1  am  sure  we  have  enough  of  it,  are  we  to  have 
imperceptible  repentance;  and  when  we  tell  God  our 
wants  in  prayer,  are  those  to  be  impercejttible  wants? 
Are  we  to  have  imperceptible  love  to  God  ?  and  imper- 
ceptible faith  in  Christ  ?  I  should  wish  to  have  some- 
thing better  than  an  imperceptible  religion,  otherwise 
I  should  fear  I  shall  have  nothing  better  than  an  im- 
perceptible heaven.  Really,  sir,  I  am  in  such  amaze 
by  these  new  notions,  that  I  know  not  where  1  am. 
But  as  you  say,  I  am  to  understand  all  our  old  folk  by 
the  rule  of  reverse,  perhaps  I  am  to  understand  you 
by  the  same  rule,  and  that  will  turn  all  matters  right 
round. 

Dolii.  Master  Liltleworth,  it  is  very  cruel  and  unjust 
in  you  to  banter  us  by  such  language;  you  know  how 
many  people  there  are  against  our  religion  already: 
First,  Dissenters  of  every  party  are  saying  that  we 
subscribe  a  creed  for  the  sake  of  our  livings,  which 
we  never  examined  or  believed.  But  who  would 
mind  what  these  Schismatics  have  to  say  against  us  ? 
for  all  the  infidels  say  just  the  same;  and  as  for  the 
new  sect  that  you  have  lately  taken  to  follow,  they 
are  worse  than  any  of  them. 

Far.  Well,  then,  sir,  I  must  honestly  confess,  what- 


60  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

soever  your  accusers  may  be,  I  wonder  thai  so  many 
of  you  gentlemen  should  again  and  again  subscribe  to 
all  these  things,  as  though  you  had  a  right  to  under- 
stand them  in  a  sense  just  opposite  to  their  real  sense, 
and  thus  make  nonsense  of  the  whole  of  it;  while  you 
subscribe  them  as  being  "  articles  agreed  upon  by  the 
archbishops  and  bishops,  and  all  the  clergy,"  for 
'^  avoiding  diversity  of  opinions,"  and  "  for  the  esta- 
blishment of  consent  touching  religion;"  and  which 
you  say  are  to  be  taken  in  the  literal  and  grammatical 
sense.  Ay,  sir,  and  run  down  those  ministers  whose 
hands  and  hearts  go  together,  and  who  will  have  no- 
thing to  do  with  those  double  meanings,  and  double 
dealings  so  contrary  to  all  the  common-sense  mean- 
ing of  words,  as  that  all  we  farmer-like  country fied 
folk,  cannot  but  see  how  little  agreement  there  is  be- 
tween hands  and  hearts  in  all  these  subscriptions. 
Lord  help  us!  is  this  the  simplicity  and  godly  sin- 
cerity of  the  upright  Christian? 

Dolit.  0,  sir,  you  seem  to  be  struck  with  the  spirit 
of  devotion;  you'll  go  to  prayer  with  us  next. 

Far.  0  no,  sir!  I  would  rather  leave  that  with  you. 
Nancy,  my  child,  reach  Mr.  Dolittle  the  Bible;  it 
will  be  more  profitable  to  us  all,  if  he  reads  a  chapter, 
and  expounds  it,  and  goes  to  prayer  with  us,  and  that 
is  the  way  Mr.  Lovegood  does  when  he  goes  a  visit- 
ing. 

Dolit.  I  have  been  now  rector  of  this  parish  above 
these  nineteen  years,  and  I  never  was  addressed  about 
going  to  prayer  in  such  a  manner  before.  Sir,  this 
rude  treatment  compels  me  to  leave  your  house  im- 
mediately.— Mrs.  Littleworth,  1  wish  you  a  good 
night, — Young  ladies,  your  humble  servant. 


DIALOGUE  V 


Between  Farmer  Litileworth,  Mr.  Brisk,  {Mr.  Dolit- 
tle^s  Curate,)  Mr.  Smirking  {Assistant  to  Dr.  Dro- 
nish,)  and  the  Farmer^s  Family. 


ON  THE  EVIL  NATURE  AND  EFFECTS  OF  STAGE  PLAYS. 

Sam,  the  Farmer^ s  Foot-hoy  comes  Home  from  Maple- 
ton,  in  the  evening,  after  an  *^^ffray  at  a  Public  House. 

Miss  JSTancy.  Father,  here  is  Sam  come  home 
from  Mapleton  with  such  a  bruised  face,  bloody 
handkerchief,  and  his  livery  all  over  dirt.  He  ap- 
pears to  be  half  drunk:  and  the  lantern  is  broken  all 
to  bits! 

Farmer.  What  can  he  have  been  at?  Why  don't 
he  come  in  ? 

Miss  JV.  He  is  only  stopping  to  scrape  off  some  of 
the  dirt,  and  to  wash  himself  in  the  back  kitchen. 
[Sam  comes  in.] 

Far.  Why,  Sam,  in  the  name  of  wonder  where  have 
you  been,  to  come  home  in  this  condition? 

SafJi.  0  sir!  if  you  will  forgive  me,  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it. 

Far.  Forgive  you!  why,  what  have  you  been 
doing?  Tell  the "^truth  first,  and  after  that  I'll  tell 
you  whether  I  shall  forgive  you. 

Sam.  Why,  sir,  when  my  young  ladies  were  at 
Mr.  Lightman's  the  lawyer's,  at  tea,  in  came  Mr. 
Brisk  and  Mr.  Smirking,  and  made  an  agreement 
that  they  should  all  go  to  the  play. 

Far.  Ay;  I  thought  by  their  whisperings  and 
dressings  that  they  had  some  such  project  in  their 


62  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

heads.     But  how  came  you  in  such  a  pickle,  young 
man  ? 

Sara.  Sir,  my  young  ladies  gave  me  sixpence  to 
go  to  the  Nag's  Head,  that  I  might  not  stand  out  in 
the  cold,  while  they  were  all  at  the  play;  and  there 
Squire  Bluster's  footman,  and  Lord  Rakish's  genilt- 
man,  did  nothing  but  jeer  my  young  ladies  by  asking 
which  they  understood  best,  dancing  or  making  but- 
ter and  cheese?  And  then  they  sneer'd  and  jeer'd  at 
their  dress. 

I^ar.  Why  did  you  not  let  them  sneer  and  jeer  on, 
and  go  away  about  your  business  ? 

Sam.  Why,  I  thought  I  must  stop  and  spend  my 
sixpence.  And  then  they  began  their  romance  on  me, 
and  asked  how  many  more  of  the  plou2;h-boys  the 
farmer  had  put  in  livery?  And  I  said  to  them,  as  how, 
they  might  have  been  plough-boys  once,  as  well  as  I. 
Then  they  swore  desperate  oaths  at  me,  and  would 
make  me  drink;  and  said,  I  should  run  the  gauntlet; 
then  they  knocked  me  down;  and  as  soon  as  I  could, 
I  ran  away  as  fast  I  was  able;  but  they  followed  me 
into  the  street,  and  would  bring  me  back  again,  but  1 
would  not  come,  so  they  rolled  m.e  in  the  dirt,  and 
beat  me  sadly;  and  the  whole  street  was  in  an  uproar; 
and  the  lantern  was  broke  all  to  smash. 

Far.  Oh,  Nancy,  my  child;  what  a  mercy  from 
God  it  is,  that  we  are  not  in  '*  the  broad  way  that 
leadeth  unto  destruction,"  and  that  we  have  now  the 
Bible  before  us! 

Miss  Nancy.  A  mercy  indeed,  father!  for,  till  we 
went  to  hear  Mr.  Lovegood,  we  were  all  alike.  The 
Lord  be  praised  for  his  grace! 

[After  some  other  conversation,  in  come  the  two 
ministers  and  the  two  daughters.] 

Brisk.  Well,  sir,  we  have  brought  home  your 
daughters  quite  safe  and  sound;  though  I  am  afraid 


DIALOGUE  V.  63 

it  is  a  little  later  than  your  usual  time  for  supper  and 
bed. 

Far.  Ohj  no  sir;  for  sometimes  I  come  home  al- 
most as  late  as  this,  when  I  come  from  the  lecture  at 
Mr.  Lovegood's  church.  And  for  sure,  my  daughters 
can  have  been  in  no  bad  ways  when  they  have  been 
with  men  of  your  cloth;  though  Sam  has  told  me  a 
strange  story. 

Brisk.  Why,  I  confess,  Mr.  Littleworth,  it  was 
1  that  persuaded  your  daughters  to  go  to  the  play. 
1  am  sure  it  is  a  very  innocent  and  rational  amuse- 
ment. 

Far.  1  can't  thank  you  for  that,  sir;  for  while  you 
was  at  the  playhouse,  Sam,  and  ever  so  many  other 
servants  were  at  the  alehouse;  and  he  is  come  home 
in  a  fine  trim. 

Miss  Polly.  But,  father,  mayn't  the  gentlemen 
have  a  bit  of  supper  for  their  kindness  in  bringing  us 
home  ? 

Far.  Ay,  ay,  child,  I  have  no  objection  against 
that. — Dame,  see  what  there  is  in  the  pantry.  JNancy, 
help  your  mother  to  bring  it  out. 
[It  is  done  accordingly.] 

Far.  Will  one  of  you  gentlemen  ask  a  blessing. 
[Mr.  Brisk  says  a  careless  grace.] 

Far.  And  pray,  gentlemen,  did  you  ask  a  blessing 
before  you  went  to  the  play,  and  took  my  daughters 
with  you;  and  can  you  return  thanks  to  God  now 
you  are  come  away;  for  "  in  every  thing  we  should 
give  tlianks." 

Smirki?ig.  Why,  sir,  how  came  that  thought  into 
your  head  1 

Far.  I  had  it  from  the  Bible.  And  for  sure,  you 
gentlemen,  can't  be  so  ignorant  of  that  book,  as  not 
to  know,  that  you  ministers  are  directed  to  "  give 
yourselves  continually  unto  prayer.'^  And  that  all 
of  us  should  "  pray  always,  with  all  prayer  and  sup- 


64  VILLAGE  I  lALOGUES. 

plication  in  the  Spirit;  that  we  should  "  continue  in- 
stant in  prayer;"  yea,  that  we  should  "  pray  without 
ceasing." 

Smir.  But,  sir,  if  you  take  these  texts  in  so  strict 
a  sense,  how  is  the  business  of  the  world  to  be  carried 
on? 

Far.  Why,  the  sense  in  which  I  take  these  words 
is,  that  we  should  live  in  such  a  holy  habit  and  frame 
of  mind,  as  to  be  at  all  times  in  a  fit  state  for  prayer; 
and  that  we  can  be  looking  up  to  God  in  frequent 
prayer  while  we  are  at  our  daily  labour.  And  I  am 
sure,  when  this  is  the  case,  the  world  will  go  on  a 
thousand  times  better  than  it  does  at  present. 

Brisk.  Well,  sir,  such  a  frame  of  mind  is  not  amiss, 
especially  at  the  latter  end  of  our  lives. 

Far.  However  you,  gentlemen,  would  advise  us  to 
put  off  these  thing's  till  the  latter  end  of  our  lives, 
while  God's  word  directs  us  to  "  be  always  ready;" 
yet  you  ministers  are  instructed  to  give  "  yourselves 
wholly  to  these  things,  that  your  profiting  may  ap- 
pear unto  all  men."  Now,  pray  sir,  if  any  of  the 
people  had  been  taken  for  death,  and  had  sent  for  you 
to  pray  with  them,  and  to  administer  the  holy  sacra- 
ment to  them,  how  would  you  have  felt  in  your  de- 
votions, after  having  heard  so  much  of  the  profane 
stuff  and  nonsense  they  talk  over  at  these  plays? 
What  sort  of  prayers  would  yours  have  been?  Could 
you  have  drawn  "  near  with  a  true  heart  in  full  as- 
surance of  faith,"  before  a  holy  God  ? 

Smir.  I  must  leave  you,  Mr.  Brisk,  to  answer  that 
question;  for  being  co-pastor  with  Dr.  Dronish, among 
the  rational  Dissenters,  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  be- 
ing called  upon  on  these  occasions;  but  these  things 
should  be  no  bar  against  a  candid  and  liberal  inter- 
course with  each  other;  for  in  all  the  principal  points 
of  religion  we  seem  very  well  agreed. 


DIALOGUE  V.  65 

Brisk.  Why,  Mr.  Littlevvortli,  that  is  not  a  pro- 
bable case. 

Far.  But,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  a  very  probable 
case.  And  I  did  hear  of  one  minister  who  was  called 
out  of  a  puppet  show,  to  go  to  prayer  with  a  man 
who  was  likely  to  die;  and  in  every  parish  there  al- 
ways must  be  some  who  are  sick,  and  near  their  end. 
If  you  are  not  sent  for  oftener  than  you  are,  it  is  be- 
cause your  negligence  has  made  them  as  careless  as 
yourselves,  even  to  their  d^'ing  moments;  and  no 
wonder  that  they  think  so  little  of  the  prayers  of 
suL'h   ministers  who  pray  so  little  for  themselves. 

Smir.  Mr.  Brisk,  I  believe  we  had  better  walk 
home,  for  Mr.  Littleworth  seems  quite  angry. 

Far.  No,  no,  gentlemen,  I  am  not  angry;  though 
I  confess  I  am  grieved  at  heart  that  my  daughters 
should  have  been  led  to  such  places  by  gentlemen  of 
your  profession,  where,  I  am  sure,  they  could  get 
nothing  but  wickedness.  I  always  was  hospitable  to 
my  neighbours;  and  you  are  welcome  to  stop,  and  I 
wish  you  would,  that  we  may  talk  over  matters  be- 
fore my  daughters;  for  to  speak  plainly,  your  ex- 
ample hardens  them  much  in  their  vain  waj-s. 

Smir.  Why,  truly,  sir,  I  thank  you  for  your  civi- 
lity, but  I  think,  from  the  dreary  notions  of  religion 
you  have  lately  adopted,  you  have  taken  up  such 
high  prejudices  against  plays  as  are  not  just;  for,  in 
many  plays,  there  are  fine  lessons  of  morality,  if  we 
would  but  attend  to  them. 

Far.  Ah,  and  they  are  all  the  worse  for  that,  as  it 
makes  the  wicked  things  in  them  go  down  the  more 
glib.  And  we  suppose  we  have  a  license  to  hear  all 
the  foolish  and  lewd  stories  and.  blasphemous  ro- 
mances, because  they  are  messedu^^  with  a  little  mora- 
lity? Pray,  sir,  do  the  people  that  go  to  those  places, 
go  after  religion  and  m.orality,  or  after  vanity  and 
mirtli  ? 

VOL.  1. — 7 


66  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Brisk.  Why,  sir,  we  go  after  a  little  innocent 
amusement,  to  be  sure.  And  if  we  do  hear  of  bad 
things,  we  need  not  practise  them. 

Far.  But  do  they,  whose  hearts  are  good  and  up- 
right, think  that  they  are  at  liberty  to  go  after  things 
that  are  bad?  Or  if  I  hear  tilings  which  are  bad,  is 
that  likely  to  make  me  good  ?  Besides,  I  am  directed 
to  "cease  to  hear  the  instruction  that  causeth  us  to 
err."  Pra}^,  did  either  of  you,  gentlemen,  ever  find 
that  wicked  people,  at  any  time,  were  made  more 
moral  by  following  these  loose  fellows,  who  go  ro- 
mancing about  the  country  with  their  plays  and 
morality? 

Smir.  I  don't  know  that  we  have.  But  they 
might  have  been  the  better,  if  they  would;  for  1  still 
maintain  it,  that  there  are  plays  which  contain  ex- 
cellent strokes  of  morality. 

Far.  Well,  if  I  am  to  go  after  their  nonsense  and 
ribaldry  for  the  sake  of  their  morality,  I  might  also 
expect  to  be  made  a  better  man,  if  I  should  hire  some 
wicked  wretch  to  curse  and  blaspheme,  and  use  all 
manner  of  filthy  foolish  talk,  made  up  of  lewdness, 
craft,  and  pride,  provided  I  had  one  of  you  gentle- 
men at  my  elbow,  to  give  me  a  little  of  your  m.orality 
at  the  same  time.  But,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  by 
what  law  we  go,  when  we  attend  such  abominable 
pastimes,  and  use  such  wicked  language.  Have  either 
of  you,  gentlemen,  any  right  to  tell  us  a  set  of  vain, 
filthy,  romancing  stories,  and  every  now  and  then 
bring  out  a  shocking  oath,  and  then  mess  it  up  with 
a  little  morality  for  our  instruction? 

Smir.   Oh,  no,  Mr.  Littleworth,  we  did  not  say  so! 

Far.  Why,  then,  did  you  do  right  in  hiring  all 
these  loose  blades  to  do  it  before  you? 

Brisk.  Sir,  this  is  very  uncharitable;  for,  if  they 
said  these  bad  words,  we  did  not  hire  them  for  that 
purpose. 


DIALOGUE  V.  67 

Far.  Yes;  but  you  knew  they  would  come  in  with 
the  general  bargain;  and  all  the  profane  foolish  peo- 
ple, up  and  down  the  country,  were  there  to  hear 
them.  And  how  must  this  harden  them  in  their  sins 
when  they  saw  so  many  ministers  with  tliem,  at  their 
wretched  sport.  So  that  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  (for 
I  am  an  old  man  and  must  speak  the  truth,)  you  have 
been  "  sitting  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful,  and  attend- 
ing the  councils  of  the  ungodly;'^  and  the  Lord  help 
me!  how  grieved  I  am  that  my  daughters,  whom  I 
brought  up  in  such  a  vain  way  in  my  thoughtless 
state,  should  have  been  with  you! 

Sniir.  13y  your  account,  sir,  one  would  think 
these  men  do  nothiilg  but  curse  and  swear  all  the 
time. 

Far.  Pray,  sir,  do  they  curse  and  swear  awi^  of  the 
time.^ 

Smir.  Yes;  I  confess,  I  now  and  then  hear  some 
such  expressions.  But  then  they  are  only  meant  as 
embellishments;  and  after  all,  with  a  moral  intent  to 
expose  the  wickedness  of  such  words. 

Far.  Expose  such  wickedness! — Why,  what  can 
give  it  such  countenance,  when  all  the  people  round 
about  come  together.  Gentlefolks,  Justices  and  Par- 
sons, attending  all  the  time  giggling  and  laughing 
while  such  oaths  are  swearing.  But  what  did  you 
mean,  sir,  by  ^bellislimentsl  I  did  not  understand 
that  hard  word? 

Smir.  Sir,  I  meant  ornaments. 

Far.  Well,  this  is  to  admiration,  that  oaths  are 
ornaments!  But  you  say,  these  are  sworn  but  now 
and  then.  So,  you  think,  we  may  go  to  places  where 
people  swear  but  a  little.  Now,  to  my  way  of  think- 
ing, we  should  be  in  no  company  but  with  such  as 
mind  our  Lord's  words,  "Swear  not  at  all." 

Brisk.  W^hy,  if  ever  they  do  swear,  they  always 
cover  it  very  decently;   they  only  say  damme,  gad- 


68  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

zounds,  and  such  sort  of  words.  And  they  mean 
nothing  by  it. 

Far.  Wh)^,  that  they  mean  nothing  by  the  whole 
of  itj  for  it  is  nothing  better  than  a  pack  of^  make-be- 
lieve nonsense,  there  is  no  doubt.  But  you  clergy 
know,  that  taking  the  Lord's  name  in  vain  means 
the  making  use  of  his  holy  name  in  a  vain  manner. 
And,  I  am  sure,  it  cannot  be  done  in  a  vainer  manner 
than  it  is  done  on  the  stage;  especially  in  their  pro- 
fane mock  devotions,  even  upon  their  knees,  which 
are  ten  thousand  times  more  blasphemous  than  their 
oaths. 

Smir.  Well,  I  confess,  I  wish  they  would  lay  aside 
such  exclamations;  for  these  sort  of  amusements 
would  be  quite  as  good,  and  as  rational,  v^dthout  them. 
But  where  is  the  harm  of  the  word  zounds?  it  is  a 
word  without  any  nieaning. 

Far.  To  be  sure,  that  is  a  famous  excuse  for  them ! 
for  all  their  words,  in  a  sense,  are  words  without 
meaning.  For  all  their  fine  shows  are  nothing  bet- 
ter than  sham  and  nonsense:  but  the  word  zounds  is 
a  most  desperate  profane  oath  indeed.  It  means,  hy 
God^s  wounds;  and  I  thought,  for  sure,  you  gentle- 
men had  sufficient  laming  to  have  known  that. 

Smir.  0,  sir!  it  is  only  an  old  expression,  invent- 
ed in  the  times  of  popery,  wlien  people  believed  in 
the  divinity  of  our  Saviour,  and  the  atonement; — 
but  these  doctrines  are  now  universally  exploded 
among  the  rational  dissenters.  And  you  know,  Mr. 
Brisk,  many  of  the  clergy  also  are  of  our  sentiment 
in  regard  to  these  points. 

Far.   The  infidel  dissenters  you  mean,  sir. 

Miss  Polly.  L — d,  father,  how  you  talk!  Surely 
Mr.  Smirking  will  be  affronted. 

Far.  Ah!  my  child,  I  find  you  have  not  been  to 
that  wicked  school  for  nothing;  for  so  many  times  as 
I  have  told  you  of  it,  yet  you  still  take  "  the  Lord's 


DIALOGUE  V.  69 

Smir.  Well,  sir,  I  can't  see  that  we  should  give 
up  the  fine  sentiments,  that  are  generally  held  out 
on  these  occasions ;  I  still  maintain  it,  that  the  stage, 
when  properly  conducted,  is  a  very  rational  aniuse^ 
ment. 

Fa7\  In  my  vain  days,  when  I  attended  these 
places,  I  know  not  what  I,  or  any  one  else,  went 
there  for  unless  to  make  game,  and  to  kill  time,  as 
we  most  wickedly  used  to  call  it.  The  Lord  knows, 
that  bad  I  went  there,  and  worse,  I  am  sure,  I  came 
away,  for,  as  to  all  the  wicked  things  I  heard  there, 
they  stuck  to  my  heart  like  burrs  to  my  worsted 
stockings;  and  as  to  the  morality,  that  all  ran  oflf  as 
fast  as  it  came  on,  like  fair  water  from  a  duck's 
back. 

Smi7\  0,  but  then  you  did  not  consider  the  pro- 
per intent  of  them!  for  they  are  designed  to  show 
the  deformity  of  vice,  and  lash  the  follies  of  man- 
kind. 

Far.  I  thought  that  was  the  office  of  you  minis- 
ters; and  for  sure  you  cannot  want  the  help  of  a  set 
of  strolling  players  to  assist  you  in  reforming  your 
neighbours.  But  can  either  of  you,  gentlemen,  in 
your  consciences  think  so?  When  vicious  people 
get  exposed  and  lashed,  they  are  ashamed  to  face  it 
out;  they  will  never  stand  their  ground.  But  where 
do  all  these  sort  of  people  run  to?  Why,  to  the 
play-house.  And  what  do  they  go  there  for?  Be- 
cause it  feeds  and  pampers  their  vanity  and  pride, 
while  they  make  a  downright  merriment  of  sin.  And 
as  to  the  stories  they  trump  up  on  these  occasions,  it 
is  wonderful  that  any  modest  woman  will  go  to  hear 
them.  1  am  ashamed,  to  think  how  many  different 
lewd  tricks  and  projects  1  have  heard  from  them, 
dressed  up  almost  in  every  shape.  In  short,  nothing 
is  such  nuts  for  them  as  that  which  sets  them  all  a 
laughing  at  adultery  and  whoredom.  Thus,  ^'foola 
7* 


70  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

make  a  mock  at  sin;"  and  it  is  a  pity  such  gentlemen 
as  you  should  *' follow  the  multitude  to  do  evil." 

JMrs.  Lit.  Why,  though  1  don't  like  my  husband 
being  so  over  religious,  yet  I  cannot  but  agree  with 
him,  that  it  would  be  much  better  if  our  daughters 
would  but  stay  at  home  and  mind  their  business,  and 
not  waste  their  time  in  running  after  such  wonder- 
ments. I  do  not  think  my  son  Harry  would  have 
turned  out  so  bad,  if  he  could  have  been  kept  away 
from  such  sort  of  company. 

Far.  Ah,  that  was  one  of  the  first  things  which 
brought  on  the  ruinalion  of  my  boy.  It  was  there 
he  got  instructed  in  all  the  wicked  ways  of  the  world; 
and  being  so  ignorant  and  careless  myself,  as  I  then 
was,  I  could  not  have  the  face  to  correct  him.  Oh 
how^  I  deserve  the  punishment  of  old  Eli!  For  "  my 
son  made  himself  vile,  and  I  restrained  him  not." — 
Lord,  forgive  me,  and  grant  that  I  may  once  more 
see  him  back  again  from  sea!  I  hope  to  the  Lord, 
that  I  may  be  able  to  say  something  to  him  for  his 
good,  and  may  God  change  his  heart! 

Miss  Nancy.  Mother,  have  you  got  the  key  of 
the  back  pantry?  for  Sam  is  terribly  bruised,  and  we 
are  going  to  bathe  his  cheeks  and  side  with  some  hot 
verjuice.     [Mrs.  Little  worth  gives  the  key.] 

Far.  Now,  all  this  riot  and  wickedness  comes  of 
these  abominable  pastimes,  whether  out  of  doors,  or 
in,  it  is  just  as  bad;  nothing  but  uproar  and  confu- 
sion all  the  town  over.  While  every  'prentice  and 
servant  man  and  maid  is  tempted  to  run  away  from 
their  families,  to  which  they  belong;  and  then  away 
they  go  to  these  schools  of  wickedness,  and  come 
home  at  dark  night,  tit  for  the  practice  of  every  abo- 
minable vice  that  comes  in  their  way.  Thus  busi- 
ness is  neglected;  the  common  people  are  robbed 
both  of  their  morals  and  their  money,  while  the 
pawnbroker  and  alehouse-keeper  live  on  the  spoil. 


DIALOGUE  V. 


71 


And  these  are  your  innocent  amusements,  gentle- 
men. 

Smir.  Now,  after  all  that  you  have  said,  bad  peo- 
ple will  make  a  bad  use  of  every  thing:  but  that  don't 
prove  things  to  be  bad  in  themselves. 

Brisk.  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  Mr.  Smirking, 
for  there  is  nothing  against  these  things  in  scripture; 
nay,  there  is  a  time  for  all  things,  even  a  time  to 
dance;  and  we  should  regard  the  scriptures. 

Far.  With  all  my  heart,  sir,  I  shall  be  glad  to  come 
to  that  touchstone.  We  are  commanded  to  search 
the  scriptures. — Patty,  reach  the  Bible. 

Fatly.  Why,  father,  the  gentlemen  have  scarce 
done  supper;  you  cannot  want  the  Bible  yet. 

Far.  Nay,  nay,  girl,  we  have  been  talking  all  the 
time,  as  most  people  do  over  their  meals,  and  talking 
about  religion  won't  choke  us  any  more  than  about 
politics  and  the  world. 

Smir.  We  have  both  done  supper,  sir,  and  it  be- 
gins to  be  late. 

Far.  It  is  not  wholesome  to  rise  so  soon  after 
meals;  and  you  love  a  glass  of  wine  after  supper. 
[Dame,  reach  us  a  nice  iDoltle  of  your  best  currant 
wine.]  (To  Mr.  Smirking,)  Sir,  gentlemen  in  your 
way  love  a  pipe,  shall  Patty  bring  you  one? 

S'tnir.  No,  I  thank  you,  sir;  it  begins  to  be  late. 

Far.  Now,  let  us  have  the  Bible.  (Nancy  brings  it.) 

Miss  Nancy.  Father,  I  can  show  all  the  places  we 
turned  down,  while  my  sisters  and  the  ministers  were 
at  the  play;  which  Mr.  Lovegood  made  use  of  when 
he  preached  against  these  wickednesses. 

Far.  Well,  then,  let  us  see:  Here  is  Eph.  iv.  29: 
"  Let  no  corrupt  communication  proceed  out  of  your 
mouth,  but  that  which  is  good  to  the  use  of  edifying, 
that  it  may  minister  grace  to  the  hearers."  [To  the 
Ministers] — Did  the  play  run  in  that  style  to-night, 
gentlemen  ? 


72  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Bi'lsk.  Go  on,  sir;  we  will  answer  you  by  and  by. 

Far.  Why  then,  it  is  said,  *'That  for  every  idle 
word  men  shall  speak,  they  shall  give  an  account  in 
the  day  of  judgment."  Why,  Nancy,  it  would  not 
do  for  you  and  me  to  die  in  a  play-house;  for  there 
is  nothing  else  but  idle  words  there.  And  then  again, 
we  are  forbidden  "  foolish  talking  and  jesting,  which 
is  not  convenient."  iVnd  there  we  have  nothing  else 
but  foolish  talking  and  jesting  all  the  way  through; 
ay,  and  if  possible,  worse  still;  for  if  they  present 
us  with  any  good,  they  are  almost  sure  to  make  a 
scoff  at  it;  and  as  for  pride,  anger,  revenge,  and  such 
like  passions,  these  they  dress  up  in  such  a  manner 
as  though  there  was  little  or  no  evil  in  them,  and  as 
though  nobody  could  live  without  them. — In  a  thou- 
sand instances  they  represent  virtue  to  be  vice,  and 
vice  to  be  virtue,  or  it  would  not  be  so  pleasing  to 
the  sort  of  customers  who  attend  them.  After  this, 
you  know,  Mr.  Lovegood  mentioned  that  text  against 
"profane  and  vain  babblings;"  and  their  babblings 
are  profane  enough,  I  am  sure;  and  these  we  are  "  to 
avoid."  And  here  it  is  again;  "  Let  your  conversa- 
tion be  as  becometh  the  gospel  of  Christ."  And  here 
again,  "  Our  conversation  is  in  heaven." 

Nancy.  And  you  know,  father,  it  is  said,  <^  that 
the  righteous  soul  of  Lot  was  vexed  with  the  filthy 
conversation  of  the  wicked."  And  I  am  sure,  in  all 
the  plays  that  you  and  I  have  seen,  there  is  enough 
of  the  filthy  conversation  of  the  wicked. 

Far.  But  Nancy,  we  must  not  forget  that  text 
which  pins  it  all  down  to  a  point,  which  Mr.  Love- 
good  explained  to  us  against  these  abominable  doings, 
in  Gal.  v.  19 — 22,  in  which,  after  a  long  list  of 
wickednesses  forbidden  to  all  Christians,  "  revellings 
and  such  like,"  are  mentioned;  and  these  are  again 
forbidden,  1  Pet.  iv.  3.  Now,  Mr.  Lovegood  told  us 
they  meant  masked   dances  and  songs,  much   after 


DIALOGUE  V.  73 

the  fashion  of  our  plays.  And  then,  you  know,  he 
told  us  that  all  horse-racings,  bull-baitings,  useless 
fairs  and  wakes,  cock-fightings  and  dancings,  were 
all  of  them  revels.  And  again,  he  observed,  that 
midnight  revels  were  the  worst  sort  of  revels,  be- 
cause  it  gave  a  more  convenient  opportunity  to  the 
sons  of  darkness  to  practise  their  works  of  darkness. 
And  we  all  know  what  sort  of  innocent  amusements 
people  are  sure  to  have  among  themselves  at  these 
times,  cursing,  swearing,  fighting,  whoring,  drunken- 
ness, and  every  other  abominable  evil.  Fine  sort 
of  sights  these  for  ministers  to  attend.  Gentlemen, 
have  you  had  supper  enough? 

Ministers.  No  more,  we  thank  you,  sir.  But  we 
must  be  moving. 

Far.  Why,  you  would  not  be  running  away  be- 
cause the  Bible  is  fetched,  that  would  be  strange 
indeed  for  ministers.  You  have  been  near  three  liours 
at  the  play:  We  should,  at  least,  spend  one  hour 
over  the  Bible. — Patty,  take  away  every  thing  but 
the  Bible.  Now,  gentlemen,  can  you  show  us  any 
place  in  scripture  that  countenances  your  sort  of  pro- 
ceedings? 

Brisk.  Why,  did  I  not  mention  that  the  scripture 
says,  there  is  a  time  to  dance?  And  did  not  David 
dance  before  the  ark? 

Far.  Yes;  and  he  danced  with  holy  joy  before  the 
Lord,  praising  and  blessing  his  name  all  the  time; 
quite  in  a  rapture  of  thanksgiving  for  his  great  mer- 
cies to  Israel.  Surely  you  won't  compare  your  sort 
of  dancings  to  that  of  David,  where  God  is  quite  for- 
gotten, and  thrust  out  of  the  question,  and  all  of  you 
make  merry  in  sin. 

Smir.  But  then,  sir,  we  are  forbidden  to  be  "  righte- 
ous over-much." 

Miss  Polly.  There,  father,  I  am  sure  that  is  as  much 
to  the  point  as  any  of  your  texts. 


74  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Far.  Ay,  and  many  a  drunken,  worldly-minded 
farmer  and  grazier  has  told  me  of  that  text  before 
now.  As  though  the  Lord  was  afraid  that  we,  poor 
sinful  creatures,  might  be  too  righteous  and  holy; — 
lest  w^e  should  repent  too  much;  pray  too  much;  or 
love  God  too  much.  ISow,  though  I  am  but  a  coun- 
try farmer,  yet  I  can  give  you  a  properer  meaning  to 
it  than  tiiat,  if  ever  you  choose  to  make  a  sermon  on 
it.  For  it  means,  don't  be  too  rigorous  and  over  se- 
vere in  your  judgment  and  dealings  with  your  fellow 
creatures;  but  let  mercy  and  forbearance  be  mix^d 
with  judgment.  I  think  this  sounds  more  consistent, 
than  to  suppose,  that  a  most  righteous  God  should 
forbid  us  to  be  over-righteous.  And  would  not  such 
notions  make  the  Bible  appear  to  be  all  contradiction 
and  nonsense?  while  we  are  commanded  in  that 
blessed  book,  to  be  "  holy  in  all  manner  of  conversa- 
tion;" to  "perfect  holiness  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord;" 
and  to  "  be  perfect,  even  as  our  Father  who  is  in  hea- 
ven is  perfect." 

Smir.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Littleworth,  you  are  fre- 
quently going  down  to  Mr.  Lovegood's  for  fresh 
lectures  in  divinity,  for  you  can  quite  outdo  us. 

Far.  0  yes,  sir,  I  am  with  him  as  often  as  my  bu- 
siness will  permit;  and  when  I  heard  him  the  Sunday 
before  last  preach  his  excellent  sermon  against  this 
ribaldry,  that  you,  gentlemen,  have  been  supporting, 
1  remember  he  told  us,  how  much  such  farcical  non- 
senses were  against  the  spirit  and  temper  of  real 
Christianity.  [To  his  daughter.]  Nancy,  my  child, 
you  know  we  marked  down  his  proof  texts  on  that 
head  also,  as  soon  as  we  came  home.  Let  us  see 
which  they  were. 

JSTancy.  Why,  the  first  text  was  this:  "I  beseech 
you  therefore,  brethren,  by  the  mercies  of  God,  that 
ye  present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  holy,  ac- 
ceptable to  God,  which   is  your  reasonable  service: 


DIALOGUE  V. 


75 


and  be  not  conformed  to  this  world,  but  be  ye  trans- 
formed by  the  renewing  of  your  mind,  that  ye  may 
prove  what  is  that  good  and  joerfect  and  acceptable 
will  of  God."  And  he  asked,  where  could  be  the 
Christianity  of  those  who  were  entirely  conformed  to 
the  world,  and  who  ran  after  all  its  vanities;  and  were 
"  lovers  of  pleasure  more  than  lovers  of  God." 

Far.  And  then,  you  know,  he  brought  out  these 
texts,  "Mortify  therefore  your  members  which  are 
upon  the  earth,  fornication,  uncleanness,  inordinate 
affection,  evil  concupiscence,"  &c.  "Love  not  the 
world,  nor  the  things  that  are  in  the  world;  if  any 
man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in 
him;"  for  "the  friendship  of  the  world  is  enmity 
with  God."  ^  Now,  pray,  young  gentlemen,  to  be 
plain  with  you,  though  you  are  so  much  more  larn- 
eder  than  I  am,  is  it  possible  for  any  one  to  be  more 
in  friendship  with  the  world  tlian  you  are?  And  is  it 
possible,  that  they  who  attend  where  you  have  been 
to-night,  can  be  among  the  pure  in  heart  who  un- 
feignedly  say,  "  lead  us  not  into  temptation?"  and 
who  "  watch  and  pray  lest  they  should  enter  into 
temptation,"  when  they  seem  to  tempt  the  very 
devil  to  tempt  them  ? 

J\Irs.  Lit.  I  am  sadly  afraid,  gentlemen,  my  husband 
bears  a  little  too  hard  upon  you.  Let  me  give  you 
another  glass  of  wine. 

Smir.  Thank  you,  madam,  but  we  are  in  no  great 
fear  of  an  answer,  after  Mr.  Littlevvorth  has  brought 
out  all  his  texts, 

JMiss  Polly.  I  am- afraid  that  will  be  a  long  time 
first;  for  nothing  now  goes  down  with  my  father  but 
the  Bible.  For  morning,  noon,  and  night,  he  is  al- 
ways at  it;  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  he  must 
have  his  Bible.     He  seems  Bible  mad. 

Far.  You  see,  gentlemen,  my  daughter  has  brought 
home  no  great  deal  of  mannerly  or  Christian-like  be- 


76  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

haviour  to  her  father,  by  going  with  you  to  the  play 
to-night.  We  will,  however,  bring  a  few  more  texts 
to  confirm  our  point;  for,  pray,  when  you  was  with 
all  the  giggling  thoughtless  set  that  were  at  the 
play,  were  you  with  those  who  were  "  heavenly- 
minded,"  and  spiritually-minded;  who  "  were  led  by 
the  Spirit;"  who  had  ''  the  love  of  God  shed  abroad 
in  their  hearts  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  wdiich  was  given 
them,"  who  were  "giving  all  diligence  before  God 
to  make  their  calling  and  election  sure,  lest  a  promise 
being  left  to  enter  into  his  rest,  any  of  them  should 
seem  to  come  short;"  who  were  "  striving  to  enter  in 
at  the  strait  gate;"  who  were  "working  out  their 
salvation  with  fear  and  trembling;"  who  were  "  cru- 
cified to  the  world,  who  were  even  dead  to  it,"  "whose 
lives  were  hid  with  Christ  in  God:"  and  who  have 
''Christ  dwelling  in  their  hearts  by  faith?"  Were  you 
among  those  who  are  panting  after  God;  who  are 
"hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteousness;"  who 
are  "pressing  towards  tlie  mark,  for  the  prize  of  the 
high  calling  of  God  in  Jesus  Christ;"  who  are  "re- 
deeming the  time,  because  the  days  are  evil;"  who 
are  "through  the  Spirit,  mortifying  the  deeds  of  the 
body;"  who  are  "  blameless  and  harmless,  the  sons  of 
God;"  who  "  let  their  light  shine  before  men,  that 
they  may  see  their  good  works  and  glorify  their  Fa- 
ther, which  is  in  heaven?"  Were  you  among  those 
who,  "in  whatsoever  they  do  in  word  or  in  deed, 
do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  giving 
thanks  to  God  and  the  Father  by  him;"  and  who  like- 
wise, "  whether  they  eat,  or  whether  they  drink,  or 
whatsoever  they  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God?"  If 
so,  you  have  all  been  at  the  play  to  the  glory  of  God. 
Now,  gentlemen,  this  is  not  the  hundredth  part  of  the 
Bible  against  such  loose  amusements;  and  the  Lord 
make  you  sensible  what  you  should  be,  and  then  you 
will  know  where  you  should  be,  and  what  you  should 
do. 


DIALOGUE  V.  77 

Smir,  Well,  sir,  if  you  admire  nothing  else  in  us, 
at  least,  you  should  admire  our  patience  to  hear  you 
say  so  much;  and  after  all,  nothing  to  the  purpose; 
for  all  these  texts  were  only  designed  for  primitive 
times.  For,  where  will  you  find  Christians  in  this 
day  of  such  a  stamp,  excepting  a  few  narrow-minded 
people  of  Mr.  Lovegood's  cast. 

Far.  And  so,  truly,  the  Bible  is  to  be  no  more  to 
us  now-a-days  than  an  old  Almanac. — Mr.  Brisk, 
can't  you  help  Mr.  Smirking  out,  by  some  proper 
texts  of  scripture  to  prove  his  point?  Here's  the 
Bible  for  you,  sir. 

Brisk,  It  cannot  be  expected  that  my  recollection 
should  be  sufficiently  clear,  having  but  just  come 
from  the  play. 

Far.  No  wonder  that  going  to  the  play  should 
have  thickerCd  your  senses  in  regard  to  the  Bible; 
but  to  my  mind,  it  should  seem  very  odd,  that  time 
should  alter  the  mind  of  God,  and  that  what  was 
necessary,  in  a  way  of  holiness,  a  thousand  years 
ago,  is  not  necessary  now:  and  if  we  go  on,  as  we 
have  done  of  late,  in  about  five  hundred  years  longer, 
even  by  the  approbation  of  God  himself,  men  may 
be  devils  outright.  Why,  gentlemen,  where  have  you 
been  for  such  doctrine  as  this?  According  to  this 
rate,  the  Bible  is  nothing  better  than  an  old  lease 
that  is  now  run  out,  and  whose  covenants  and  agree- 
ments can  bind  no  longer;  and  if  this  be  the  case, 
how  are  we  to  come  at  the  truth  ?  And  who  is  to 
draw  us  out  a  new  rule  for  the  present  times?  I  am 
afraid,  if  done  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
it  will  be  a  desperate  wide  one.  Well,  gentlemen,  till 
you  can  show  me  a  reason  to  the  contrary,  I  shall 
always  suppose  that  good  old  Book  is  the  standard 
for  my  faith  and  practice;  and  as  God  cannot  alter  in 
himself,  so  he  cannot  alter  in  that  holy  word  of  his, 
VOL.  I. — 8 


78  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

which  he  has  given  us  to  make  us  wise  unto  salva- 
tion. 

Smlr.  Though  I  like  your  arguments  very  well, 
Mr.  Brisk,  of  taking  these  troublesome  texts  and 
putting  them  up,  out  of  the  way  of  these  modern 
enthusiasts,  by  confining  them  to  primitive  times; 
yet,  I  think,  the  same  business  is  better  accomplished 
among  rational  Dissenters,  by  calling  them  strong 
easlera  expressions,  and  representing  them  as  ab- 
struse metapliors;  that  being  born  again,  or  being 
new  creatures,  only  means  being  brought  from  the 
old  Jewish  religion  into  the  Christian,  which  was 
then  a  new  one.  And  being  led  by  the  Spirit,  only 
means,  led  by  a  good  disposition.  And  as  for  all  these 
other  strong  expressions  that  Mr.  Littleworth  seems 
so  fond  of,  they  now  only  mean,  that  we.  Christians, 
should  not  be  remiss  in  the  sober  practice  of  virtue 
and  morality. 

Fa7\  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  wish  me  to  believe 
all  this,  you  must  furnish  me  with  a  new  set  of 
brains:  for  it  was  but  about  three  weeks  ago  that  Mr. 
Dolittle  was  here,  and  then  1  was  to  believe,  that  all 
our  good  old  church  books  were  to  be  understood  ac- 
cording to  a  double  meaning,  for  and  against,  or 
contrary  to  their  meaning.  And  now  all  that  the 
Bible  means,  is  to  mean  nothing.  Do  any  of  us  think 
that  we  are  at  liberty,  after  the  same  fashion,  to  ex- 
plain avvay  a  book  of  man's  making,  as  we  explain 
away  the  book  of  Go'.i  ?  And  now,  gentlemen,  you 
must  give  me  leave  to  speak  to  you  the  thoughts  of 
m}'  heart  in  a  homely  manner.  You  have  been  en- 
couraging a  set  of  these  loose  fellows,  whose  lives, 
you  know,  are  generally  wicked,  and  who  are  so  pro- 
fane in  their  conversation  that  3'ou  would  be  ashamed 
to  make  them  your  companions,  or  take  them  into 
your  houses;  and  these  are  the  men  you  hire  to  play 
the  fool  to  please  you,  and  spread  corruption   wher- 


DIALOGUE  V.  79 

ever  they  go.  Would  either  of  you,  gentlemen,  have 
thought  it  proper  to  have  gone  upon  the  stage,  and 
acted  for  them,  had  any  of  them  been  sick,  and  there 
feigned  the  character  of  a  filthy  whoremonger,  or  a 
swearing  sailor?  Or  would  it  have  become  you,  Mr. 
Brisk,  (for  you  have  a  good  voice)  to  have  sung  one 
of  their  nasty  foolish  songs? 

Brisk.  I  confess,  sir,  1  should  not  have  thought 
that  proper,  any  more  than  yourself. 

Far.  But,  I  think,  it  would  have  been  quite  as  pro- 
per for  you  to  have  done  it  yourself,  as  to  hire  these 
strolling  buffoons  to  do  it  for  you.  Whether  would 
have  been  the  greater  sin  in  me,  to  have  hired  Tho- 
mas Newman  to  go  and  steal  a  sheep  for  me  off  Ma- 
pleton  common,  or  to  have  stolen  it  myself? 

Smirking.  I  confess,  sir,  I  wish  we  had  not  gone 
to  the  play  to-night,  because  3'ou  are  so  offended. 

jP«r.  Your  having  offended  such  a  poor  ordinary 
creature  as  I  am,  is  of  very  little  consequence  in- 
deed. But  should  you  not  both  be  much  concerned 
that  you  have  offended  God?  Could  but  you  mi- 
nisters know,  (whether  you  call  yourselves  Church- 
men or  Dissenters,  is  of  no  consequence,)  how  people 
are  hardened  in  sin  by  your  lives;  how  many  laugh 
at  all  religion,  because  they  see  so  little  in  those  who 
profess  it;  while  they  make  the  duties  of  religion  their 
burden,  and  seem  never  happy  but  when  the}'  are 
acting  like  others,  who  know  not  God.  And  what 
must  many  of  your  hearers  think  and  feel,  when 
they  see  the  same  miin  in  the  pulpit,  and  perhaps 
with  them  at  the  Sacrament  on  the  Sunday,  who 
was  their.companion  at  the  playhouse,  or  any  other 
foolish  amusement,  on  the  week  day.  If  he  attempt 
to  hold  up  the  truths  of  the  Bible,  he  holds  them  up 
against  himself;  he  is  therefore  under  the  necessity 
of  covering  all  tliese  awful  declarations  that  are  so 
plainly  revealed  against  these   ways;  and  preaching 


80  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

up  in  its  stead  a  bit  of  a  sermon  made  up  of  hea- 
thenish morality:  in  short,  as  their  lives  do  not  come 
up  to  the  Bible,  they  are  determined  to  bring  down 
the  Bible  to  their  lives.  That  this  night,  gentlemen, 
you  have  been  attempting  to  do,  and  if  by  our  con- 
versation you  are  not  convinced  that  you  are  wrong, 
I  am,  through  the  grace  of  God,  more  than  ever  con- 
vinced that  I  am  right.  God  has  lately  wrought  a 
wonderful  change  in  my  heart!  And  I  am  sure  the 
Bible  does  not  give  us  unmeaning  metaphors,  but 
tells  us  of  divine  realities.  Through  infinite  mercy, 
poor  wicked  sinner  as  I  have  been  till  very  lately, 
yet  now  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  "a  new  creature  in 
Christ  Jesus."  This  has  made  the  Bible  to  me  a 
delightful  book;  and  now  I  trust  I  can  say,  *^Lord, 
how  1  love  thy  law,  all  the  day  long  is  my  study 
therein."  Nancy,  since  then,  I  trust,  is  born  of 
God.  I  pray  for  my  wife,  and  other  children  daily: 
I  think  they  must  see  I  am  an  altered  man,  though 
I  seem  to  be  called  at  the  eleventh  hour;  for  time 
with  me  must  soon  be  at  an  end.  I  confess,  1  have 
been  kept  back  much  from  these  things  by  the  care- 
less and  neglectful  lives  of  gentlemen  of  your  pro- 
fession. 0  that  you  were  but  better  men,  for  the 
sake  of  those  precious  souls  who  depend  upon  the  in- 
struction they  receive  from  you!  But  I  speak  it 
plainly,  neither  of  you  can  be  fit  to  be  the  instructers 
of  others  till  better  instructed  yourselves.  I  never 
could  keep  my  son  Harry  in  any  order,  after  he  had 
been  led  to  those  places  where  you  have  been  taking 
my  daughters  this  night.  Though  he  was  wild 
enough  before,  yet  it  was  there  that  he  met  with  his 
complete  ruination,  in  this  world;  and  I  now  begin 
to  fear,  I  never  shall  see  him  any  more.  And  how 
shall  I  meet  him  in  the  world  to  come?  I  am 
ashamed  of  the  bad  example  I  have  set  before  him. 
[The  Farmer  weeps,   and   adds,] — But  blessed  b^ 


DIALOGUE  V.  81 

God  that  I  ever  met  with  that  dear  man  of  God,  Mr. 
Lovegood;  by  him  I  have  been  directed  to  see  the 
evil  of  sin,  and  to  seek  for  salvation  in  Jesus  Christ, 
and  that  salvation,  I  bless  his  name,  I  now  find,  and 
feel  in  myself. 

Supper  being  ended,  the  Farmer  asks  one  of  the 
ministers  to  return  thanks:  they  are  confused  and  si- 
lent.     The  Farmer  stands  up  and  prays  thus; 


"  Holy  and  merciful  Saviour,  we  bless  thee  for 
feeding  our  vile  bodies;  but  what  are  our  bodies  to 
our  souls!  0  feed  and  save  them  for  thy  mercy's 
sake!  My  dear  wife  and  children  are  here  before 
thee;  I  lift  up  my  eyes  and  heart  to  thee  for  their 
salvation:  turn  them,  O  Lord,  and  so  shall  they  be 
turned.  Surely  thou  has  already  saved  the  vilest 
sinner  in  the  family,  in  all  the  world,  in  saving  me. 
Is  there  not  love  in  thy  bleeding  heart  for  them  also, 
0  my  God  and  Saviour!  And  if  my  poor  son,  that 
prodigal  son  as  he  has  been,  is  still  alive,  save  him, 
O  save  him  for  thy  mercy's  sake!  Hear  the  prayers 
of  a  broken-hearted  parent  for  his  ruined  child. 
Thou  blessed  Shepherd  of  souls,  seek  after  that  poor 
wandering  sheep  who  is  gone  so  far  from  thee,  so 
far  from  thy  fold,  and  from  his  father's  house,  and 
bring  him  near  thyself.  Have  mercy  on  these  young 
men,  who  call  themselves  thy  ministers:  m.ake  them 
what  they  should  be,  by  saving  them  from  the  love 
of  the  world,  and  all  their  vain  ways;  that  they 
may  be  thy  ministers  in  deed  and  in  truth.  Pardon 
them,  dear  Lord,  in  that  my  children  have  been  led 
in  such  paths  of  vanity  by  them;  and  lead  them  by 
thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  for  the  time  to  come  they  may 
be  the  faithful  leaders  of  ruined  souls  to  the  know- 
ledge of  thy  great  salvation.  Grant  this,  0  Lord, 
8  * 


82  .      VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

for  the  sake  of  Christ,  our  most  compassionate  Sa- 
viour and  only  Redeemer.     Amen  and  Amen." 

The  ministers,  surprised  with  such  an  unexpected 
treat  from  the  Bihle,  and  such  a  prayer,  looked  at 
each  other  under  considerable  agitation,  and,  after  the 
usual  salutations,  retired. 


DIALOGUE  VL 


THE   PRODIGAL'S  CONVERSION  AT  SEA. 


MR.  LOVEGOOD,  FARMER  LITTLEWORTH,  SQUIRE  WOR- 
THY, AND  OTHERS. 

Mr.  Littleioorth  comes  from  Grace-hill  farm,  near  Ma- 
pleiouy  and  sits  down  in  the  kitchen  deeply  affected. 
JMr.  Lovegood  soon  afterwards  comes  in  from  visiting 
his  parishioners. 

Mr.  Lovegood.  Why,  Mr.  Littleworth,  I  am  sorry 
to  see  you  so  much  affected — is  all  well  at  home? 

Far.  Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  stand  it;  it  quite  overcomes 
me. 

Loveg.  What  overcomes  you,  sir?  We  should  not 
be  "  cast  down  with  overmuch  sorrow;"  upon  every 
event  we  should  learn  to  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

Far.  Oh,  sir!     My  son!  my  son! 

Loveg.  What,  then,  is  poor  Henry  dead? 

Far.  Dead,  sir!  No;  blessed  be  God:  "this  my 
son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again;"  he  that  was  lost 
and,  as  I  thought,  for  ever  lost,  is  found  again,  and 
I  trust,  found  in  Christ.  Oh,  sir,  it  so  overcomes 
me,  that  I  think  I  never  shall  be  able  to  outlive  it! 
But,  blessed  be  God,  come  what  will  of  it,  I  can 
now  say,  "  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  de- 
part in  peace,  for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salva- 
tion!" The  Lord  has  not  only  saved  me,  a  vile  old 
^sinner,  and  my  daughter  Nance,  but  now,  I  trust, 
*my  dear  Harry  is  a  saved  soul.  See,  sir,  what  a 
sweet  letter  he  has  sent  to  me.     [The  farmer  gives 


84  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

the  letter  to  Mr.  Lovegoocl]  Here,  sir,  take  and 
read  it,  if  you  please,  for  I  cannot  read  it  again,  it 
so  affects  me.  I  was  above  an  hour  before  1  could 
read  it  through:  1  cannot  stand  it  again:  besides, 
you  can  read  better  than  I.  [Mr.  Lovegood  takes 
the  letter,  and  reads  it.] 

^^ Island  of  Antigua. 
"Dear  and  honoured  Father, 
"  It  is  now  full  four  years  since,  in  a  most  wicked, 
disobedient  and  rebellious  state  of  mind  I  left  your 
house,  and  entered  as  a  captain's  clerk  on  board  the 
Rambler.     I  confess  you  might  have  heard  from  me 
before,  but  I  was  ashamed  to  write.     Whenever  I 
thought  of  it,  guilt  flew  in  my  face,  while  I   consi- 
dered how  kindly  you  treated  me  as  your  only  son! 
how  you  gave  me  the  best  education  in  your  power! 
and  which,  I  am  sure  you  did  out  of  pure  love,  and 
to  the  best  of  your  judgment;   though-  1   confess  it 
laid  the  foundation  of  that  conduct  before  you  and 
my  God,  which    must  have  been   my  eternal  ruin, 
had  not  such  undeserved  mercies  prevented,  as  must 
for  ever  fill  my  heart  with  praise  and  glory  to  my 
most  merciful  God  and   Saviour,  Jesus  Christ.     In 
that  school,  my  dearest  father,  I  met  with  those  who 
first  secretly  led  me  into  sin.     Even  when  a  school- 
boy, none    but  God   knows  the  wicked   devices  of 
my  heart.      And  as  "  evil  men  and  seducers  are  sure 
to  wax   worse  and  worse,"  so  it  was  with   me.     I 
look   upon    my  abominable    and    cruel    conduct    to 
you,  and    my  dear  mother,  with  perpetual    abhor- 
rence and  grief.      I  pray  you  both  a  thousand  and  a 
thousand  times  to  forgive  me,  as  I  now  trust  that,  vile 
as  I  have  been,  I  myself  am  forgiven   of  God.     I 
shall  for  ever  bless  the  most  merciful  name  of  God 
m};  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  if  I  find  you  both  alive, 
should  I  return  to  my  native  shore;   for  again  and 


DIALOGUE  VI. 


85 


again  have  I  done  enough  to  bring  your  gray  hairs 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

"  I  have  oftentimes  thought,  that  by  my  ungrate- 
ful silence  you  must,  at  least  in  your  imagination, 
have  numbered  me  with  the  dead:  for  indeed  I  have 
been  in  deaths  often.  But  a  most  gracious  God 
would  not  suffer  me  yet  to  die,  because  it  was  his 
merciful  design  to  change  my  heart,  and  constrain 
me  to  live  the  rest  of  my  life,  I  trust,  to  the  glory 
of  his  name.  Yes,  my  most  kind  father,  it  was  all 
designed  by  a  gracious  Providence,  that  your  poor 
prodigal  son  should  be  for  awhile  given  over  to  the 
devices  of  his  wicked  iieart,  so  as  that  he  should  be 
sent  far  from  home,  to  be  brought  near  to  God.  I 
fear  the  word  of  life,  which  has  since  then  been  made 
known  to  me,  is  but  little  known  in  the  neighbour- 
hood in  which  I  received  my  birth  and  education. 
0,  my  dear  parents,  I  want  now  only  to  live,  that  I 
may  impart  unto  you  how  1  have  been  converted 
from  my  vile  ways,  and  have  been  constrained  to 
live  to  God;  and  you  may  rely  upon  it,  while  I  am 
enabled  to  depend  on  him,  that  1  shall  never  grieve 
your  dear  hearts  any  more.  Christ's  love  to  me  has 
made  me  love  him;  and  now  I  love  3'ou  most  dearly 
for  his  name's  sake. 

*'  Your  once  rebellious,  but  now  affectionate  son 
most  humbly  requests,  that  neither  you  nor  my  dear 
mother,  would  blame  yourselves  that  I  had  not  from 
you  a  better  example  before  1  went  to  sea.  Few  in 
our  parts  knew  or  did  better,  nor  yet  so  well;  for  I 
fear  the  knowledge  and  love  of  God  was  then  sadly 
wanting  among  us  all.  Some  time  before  I  went  to 
sea,  I  heard  of  a  Mr.  I.ovegood  who  was  presented 
to  the  living  of  Lower  Brookfield,  and  was  much  ri- 
diculed for  his  religious  zeal;  and  I  remember  we 
all,  especially  my  sisters,  used  to  join  in  the  general 
laugh  against  him.     Now  as  this  is  the  common 


86  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

lot  of  all  good  men,  I  Jiope  j'ou  will  find  him  a  faith- 
ful and  upright  minister  of  the  gospel.  My  dear 
father,  do  for  your  own  souFs  sake,  for  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ's  sake,  go  and  hear  him.  [Here  Mr. 
Lovegood  is  so  much  affected  that  he  joins  with  the 
Farmer,  and  weeps  abundantly.  After  several  at- 
tempts he  continues  the  letter.]  Perhaps  he  may 
administer  to  your  soul  those  precious  words  of  the 
gospel  of  Christ,  which  have  proved  the  power  of 
God  to  my  salvation;  though  once,  as  you  well 
knou',  to  the  grief  of  your  heart,  the  vilest,  the 
most  abandoned  wretch  that  ever  lived  on  the  earth. 
I  should  be  glad,  if  1  had  time,  to  tell  you  all  the 
most  merciful  steps  in  judgment,  providence,  and 
grace,  that  have  brought  my  vile  heart  to  repent 
and  return  to  God;  but  the  packet  is  likely  to  sail 
every  hour,  which  will  take  this  to  England;  and 
it  is  supposed,  in  about  a  fortnight  afterwards  our 
little  fleet  will  sail  for  Portsmouth:  so  that  within 
a  month  or  five  weeks  after  you  receive  this,  you 
may  expect  to  see  your  most  undutiful  and  un- 
grateful child  upon  his  knees  before  you,  begging 
pardon  for  all  his  base  behaviour  to  you  and  my  dear 
mother.  And  though  I  shall  bring  home  but  a  very 
scanty  share  of  prize  money;  yet,  if  I  can  but  bring 
to  my  dear  parents  the  inestimable  prize  of  the 
knowledge  of  Christ,  that  pearl  of  great  price!  how 
joyful  shall  I  be!  As  to  the  small  sum  tliat  may  fall 
to  my  lot,  the  moment  I  see  you  I  shall  tell  you  it 
must  be  yours:  for,  as  I  have  confessed  the  sin  with 
much  grief  before  the  Lord,  I  now  confess  it  before 
you;  that  when  I  used  to  go  to  markets  and  fairs, 
unknown  to  you  I  too  often  kept  back  a  part  of 
the  price  of  the  things  I  sold;  and  in  a  few  other 
instances  the  money  for  which  I  sold  your  goods,  I 
entirely  kept  to  myself.  I  am  very  happy  that  it  is 
now  a  little  in  my  power  to  make  restitution j  while 


ibiALOGtE  VI»  87 

I  hope  I  shall  in  a  measure  earn  my  daily  bread  by 
applying  myself  diligently  to  the  business  of  your 
farm  as  soon  as  I  shall  have  my  discharge,  which  is 
promised  me  on  account  of  the  wound  I  received  in 
my  hip,  by  a  splinter  from  the  ship,  in  an  engage- 
ment with  the  enemy;  whereby  I  had  nearly  been 
sent  to  stand  before  the  tribunal  of  my  God,  in  a 
state  most  deplorably  wicked :  and  though  I  may 
go  halting  to  the  grave  thereby,  yet  I  bless  God  for 
his  most  merciful  correction;  for  if  1  had  not  been 
most  severely  wounded,  and  afterwards  brought  to 
the  very  gates  of  death  by  a  fever  that  attended,  I 
might  have  continued  the  same  thoughtless  and 
wicked  wretch.  0  blessed,  forever  blessed  be  God 
for  that  judgment,  sent  in  so  much  mercy,  whereby 
1  was  made  willing  to  attend  to  the  very  affectionate 
advice  and  prayers  of  some  few,  who  are  Christians 
indeed  in  this  floating  h.U!  Though  before  I  could, 
with  others,  ridicule  them,  )^et  in  the  time  of  my 
danger,  when  1  felt  the  terrors  of  the  Lord  upon 
my  soul,  I  was  made  willing  to  attend  that  voice 
of  tender  mercy,  they  administered  to  my  de- 
sponding heart.  Since  1  have  been  on  this  island, 
God  has  wonderfully  preserved  my  health  amidst 
an  abundance  of  sickness.  As  soon  as  I  landed,  I 
sought  after  those  who  knew  the  converting  grace 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  found  it  among  the 
people  called  JVIoravians.  I  cannot  express  with 
what  tenderness  and  love  they  carried  it  towards  me: 
and  it  is  wonderful,  whenever  they  saw  me  down- 
cast, under  a  sense  of  the  evils  of  my  past  life,  how 
the}^  recommended  me  to  the  dying  love  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Clirist,  that  my  poor  sinful  heart  might  be 
comforted  in  him. 

"Present  my  affectionate  love  to  my  sisters;  and 
as  vve  have  often  joined  together  in  sin,  so  may  we 
live   to   pray   together!      I   grieve,   my  dear   father, 


88  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

to  think  how  ignorant  and  vain  we  all  were  before 
I  went  to  sea;  and  I  write  with  many  tears,  while, 
with  much  shame  and  grief,  I  acknowledge  what  a 
vile  sinner  1  once  was:  but  now  I  can  bless  his  dear 
name,  who  has  so  mercifully  softened  and  changed 
my  polluted  nature,  as  that  1  can  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart,  subscribe  myself, 

Your  most  dutiful 

and  affectionate  son, 

Henry  Littleworth." 

[Mr.  Lovegood  having  read  the  letter,  returns  it 
to  Mr.  Littleworth.] 

Loveg.  My  dear  friend,  I  enter  into  all  the  joys 
you  feel,  and  can  sympathize  with  you,  knowing  how 
much  you  need  divine  support,  though  the  event  be 
so  blessed  and  glorious. 

Far.  Oh,  sir!  what  mercies  God  is  pouring  down 
upon  the  family  of  such  a  poor  old  sinner  as  I  have 
been!  0  that  my  wife  and  daughters  might  live  be- 
fore him! 

Loveg,  Well,  sir,  hope  and  trust;  for  nothing  is 
too  hard  for  the  Lord.  But  don't  you  admire  what 
the  grace  of  God  truly  is,  in  that  broken  and  hum- 
ble spirit  the  Lord  has  given  to  your  son?  and  how 
true  it  is,  "  If  any  man  be  in  Ghrist,  he  is  a  new  crea- 
ture? that  old  things  are  passed  away,  and  that  all 
thin2;s  are  become  new?" 

Far.  Ah,  dear  sir,  and  don't  you  think  I  have 
felt  something  of  the  same  change  upon  my  poor 
old  sinful  heart;  and  for  sure  it  is  a  most  glorious 
change! 

Loveg.  Yes,  Mr.  Littleworth,  it  is  truly  glorious: 
as  in  your  son,  so  on  the  hearts  of  all  wherein  the 
converting  grace  of  God  is  felt.  Sin,  however 
strongly  rooted  in  our  corruj)ted  natures,  must  give 
way  to  the  omnipotent  agency  of  God's  Holy  Spi* 


DIALOGUE   VI.  89 

ritj  lind  how  wonderfully  does  this  appear  to  be 
exemplified  in  the  heart  and  Conduct  of  poor  Henry! 
He  has  not  language  to  describe  how  vile  he  has 
been;  and  you  perceive  also  what  tenderness  and 
love  he  now  feels  to  all,  and  what  affectionate  obe- 
dience he  is  willing  to  shoW;  how  does  this  prove 
the  truth  of  that  blessed  word,  "that  love  is  the 
fulfilling  of  the  law;"  and  it  affords  full  evidence 
also,  that  if  we  love  Christ  we  shall  love  to  obey 
him. 

Far,  And,  oh  I  what  a  wicked  blade  he  was  be- 
fore he  went  to  sea.  After  he  had  got  linked  in 
with  Tom  Wild,  Will  Frolick,  and  that  set,  there 
was  no  keeping  him  at  home 5  and  when  he  found  I 
did  not  choose  that  they  should  keep  up  theirYacA:e/s 
at  my  house,  he  would  .watch  every  opportunity  to 
be  away;  and  then  I  should  hear  of  him  driving 
about  to  every  horse-race  and  fair  within  twenty 
miles  round.  One  time  I  should  hear  that  he  had 
been  fighting,  then  he  had  been  gambling;  twice 
was  he  before  the  justice  for  his  drunken  frolics, 
and  night  after  night  have  my  dame  and  I  sat  up 
for  him,  while  sometimes  he  would  be  out  all  the 
night,  and  at  other  times  he  Would  come  home  at 
twelve  or  one  o'clock,  sUlky,  ill-natured,  and  half 
drunk;  and  all  this  was  my  own  doings;  for  1  was 
wicked  and  foolish  enough  to  send  him  to  that  school 
where  there  was  nothing  of  the  fear  of  God;  and  af- 
terwards I  took  him  to  all  sorts  of  romancing  non- 
senses,  such  as  plays  and  puppet-shows,  by  way  of 
diverting  him,  and  that  led  him  into  company  which 
brought  on  his  ruin. 

Loveg.  Yes,  sir,  but  now  a  very  different  scene 
is  before  you;  your  son,  I  humbly  trust,  is  "  born 
from  above;"  and  such  are  made  "blameless  and 
harmless,  the  sons  of  God."  "  As  an  obedient  child, 
he  will  not  fashion  himself  according  to  the  former 

VOL.  I. — 9 


90  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

lusts  in  his  ignorance;^'  but  "  as  he  who  hath  called 
him  is  holy,  so  will  he  be  holy  in  all  manner  of  con- 
versation.'^ His  hands  will  no  longer  be  lifted  up 
to  strike  the  mad  and  angry  blow  of  inward  murder 
and  revenge;  but  with  diligence  and  industry  will 
he  learn  to  labour  as  Providence  shall  direct  him. — 
His  tongue  will  be  no  more  employed  in  the  lan- 
guage of  folly,  blasphemy,  and  filthy  conversation; 
but  now,  his  heart  being  blessed  with  the  grace  of 
God,  "  his  conversation  will  be  as  becometh  the 
Gospel  of  Christ,"  and  such  as  will  be  "  to  the  use 
of  edifying,  that  it  may  administer  grace  to  the 
hearers:"  and  instead  of  finding  him  a  sulky,  ill- 
natured  sot,  you  will  find  him  '^  sober,  temperate 
in  all  things,"  "loving,  gentle,  easy  to  be  entreat- 
ed."— The  lion  is  already  turned  into  the  lamb,  and 
the  disposition  of  the  tiger  and  the  bear  shall  pre- 
vail no  more;  and  as  to  his  feet,  they  will  need  no 
fetters  to  keep  them  out  of  those  vile  paths,  in  which 
he  once  ran  with  such  eager  haste.  No,  dear  sir, 
they  will  rejoice  to  walk  with  you  to  the  house 
of  God,  to  hear  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation ;  no 
other  house  like  that  will  his  feet  now  so  delight  to 
tread. 

Far.  Dear  sir,  it  quite  melts  me  down!  Oh, 
what  joy  of  heart  shall  I  feel  the  first  time  he  and 
I  shall  walk  together  to  your  church,  to  hear  the 
man  we  once  so  wickedly  ridiculed  in  the  days  of 
our  ignorance,  preaching  unto  us  the  love  of  that 
Saviour,  who  has  "  called  us  out  of  darkness  into 
his  marvellous  light."  And  poor  Nancy,  oh!  what 
a  blessing  to  her,  in  having  such  a  brother  brought 
home  to  the  family !  for  it  is  wonderful,  how  soft 
and  good,  and  gentle,  and  humble,  that  dear  girl  is 
become,  since  she  has  received  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
And  when  I  consider  the  grace  I  have  lately  felt  in 
my  own  heart,  and  how  sweetly  you  deliver  these 


DIALOGUE  VI.  91 

things  to  us  from  the  pulpit,  I  wonder  that  every  one 
who  comes  to  hear  you  is  not  converted  to  God,  as 
well  as  ourselves. 

Loveg.  So  it  appears  to  all  who  have  been  newly 
converted  by  the  word  of  life  themselves;  but  when 
we  consider  the  hardness  and  the  deceitfulness  of 
the  human  heart,  we  shall  rather  wonder  that  any  of 
us  are  renewed. 

Far.  Don't  you  think,  sir,  by  my  son  Harry's 
letter,  that  he  is  really  renewed  ? 

Loveg.  Indeed,  sir,  it  breathes  a  most  excellent 
spirit,  and  I  trust  he  will  give  you  abundantly  more 
joy  than  ever  he  has  given  you  grief;  but  still  we 
must  tell  him,  if  we  live  to  see  him,  that  he  has  but 
just  put  on  the  armour  for  the  battle,  and  that  he 
must  watch  unto  prayer. 

Far.  The  l^ord  keep  both  him  and  me  watching 
and  praying;  but^  oil,  how  it  affects  me  to  think 
what  we  all  must  feel  when  he  first  comes  home,  and 
finds  his  poor  old  wicked  father  has  been  blessed 
with  a  new  heart]  Oh,  what  a  meeting  it  will  be! 
but  how  ashamed  shall  I  be  of  myself  on  account  of 
the  bad  example  I  have  set  before  him:  how  often 
have  he  and  1  neglected  our  church  and  sabbath, 
that  we  might  go  on  some  idle  visit,  or  after  some 
foolish  pastime.  1  can't  think  that  he  would  ever 
have  been  so  bad  in  his  wicked  ways,  if  I  had  not 
first  led  him  into  ihem.  Weil,  I'll  confess  it  to 
him  with  shame,  and  tell  him  the  fault  was  mostly 
mine. 

Loveg.  It  might  be  better  if  both  of  you  were  not 
to  dwell  too  much  on  these  things;  they  were  done 
in  the  "  times  of  ignorance  that  God  winked  at.'' 
You  are  both,  I  trust,  now  arrived  in  the  new  world 
of  grace,  and  your  business  will  be  with  him  to  press 
forward  to  the  eternal  world  of  glory. 

Far.  But  0,  sir,  when  my  dear  child  offers  ir^e  hi§ 


92  VILLAGE  DIA.LOGUES, 

prize  money,  because  in  the  days  of  his  wickedness 
he  robbed  me,  how  can  he  think  I  could  ever  take 
it  from  him  ? 

Loveg,  He  does  not  know  the  blessed  change  that 
has  taken  place  upon  your  mind,  and  he  hopes 
much,  by  his  honesty  and  integrity,  to  win  your 
soul  to  Christ;  and  as  he  now,  doubtless,  attends  to 
his  Bible,  he  probably  thinks  on  what  Paul  promised 
Philemon  on  behalf  of  Onesimus,  the  servant  who 
robbed  his  master;  and  his  conscience  will  surely 
tell  him,  that  it  was  worse  to  rob  a  father  than  a 
master. 

Far.  But  he  says  he  trusts  God  has  forgiven  him, 
and  shall  not  I  forgive  himF  Dear  child!  I  would 
not  grieve  him  for  a  thousand  worlds!  No,  no;  I 
shall  want  none  of  his  prize-money,  while  I  have 
in  him  such  a  prize  as  rriy  unbelieving  heart  never 
expected.  It  will  cut  me  to  the  heart  when  he 
makes  the  otfer. 

Loveg.  Well,  sir,  we  must  contrive  to  soften  mat- 
ters before  you  and  your  son  have  the  first  inter- 
view. 

Far.  1  wish  you  would,  sir,  for  the  thoughts  of  it 
are  quite  too  much  for  me:  he  talks  of  begging  par^ 
don  on  his  knees,  when  I  should  rather  go  on  my 
knees  to  him,  for  leading  my  own  son  astray  by  send- 
ing him  to  such  a  school,  and  by  the  bad  example  I  set 
before  him.  If  he  acts  as  he  says  he  will,  I  am  sure 
1  never  shall-  be  able  to  bear  it.  [The  Farmer  again 
weeps  excessively;  after  he  is  in  a  measure  recovered, 
Mr.  Lovegood  thus  addresses  him.] 

Loveg.  My  friend,  though  I  feel  for  you  very  ten^ 
derly,  yet  your  very  tears  put  me  in  mind  of  the  joys 
of  "the  angels  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  re^ 
penteth;'^  but  I  tliink  we  can  contrive  matters  so  as 
that  your  minds  may  be  properly  prepared  for  the 
meeting. 


DIALOGUE  VI.  93 

Far.  Why,  it  is  most  likely  I  can't  write  to  him 
before  I  see  him,  as  he  will  come  from  Portsmouth 
directly  as  he  lands. 

Loveg.  Yes,  but  he  will  certainly  travel  in  the 
stage  that  goes  through  Mapleton  to  the  north,  and 
then  you  may  tell  Mr.  Vintner,  of  the  George,  to 
direct  your  son  to  Mr.  Traffick^s  of  the  shop,  who  is 
a  very  sedate  worthy  man;  then  you  may  put  a  let- 
ter into  his  hands  that  he  may  give  it  to  your  son, 
and  you  may  tell  him  what  you  think  proper,  and 
afterwards  Mr.  Traffick  may  bring  him  to  his  house, 
and  give  him  farther  particulars;  and  Billy  Traffick, 
who  is  a  very  serious  young  man,  will  walk  with  him 
to  your  house. 

Far.  No,  dear  child,  he  is  lam«;  I  must  send 
Thomas  Newman  to  bring  him,  with  a  horse  for  him 
to  ride  on,  and  another  horse  that  he  may  bring 
his  things  with  him:  but  for  all  that  Billy  Traffick 
may  come  with  him,  for  he  is  a  choice  lad;  and  I 
must  do  all  I  can  to  put  my  son  into  good  company: 
for,  oh,  what  mischief  was  done  to  my  precious  boy 
by  the  bad  company  he  kept  before  he  went  to 
sea! 

Loveg.  I  think,  sir,  yours  is  the  best  plan;  and 
what  a  feast  will  this  be  to  poor  honest  Thomas  to 
bring  such  a  rich  treasure  home  to  his  master's 
house!  and  Thomas,  though  a  plain,  yet  he  is  a  very 
sensible  man,  and  will  know  how  to  break  matters 
to  him. 

Far.  And  what  a  feast  will  this  be  to  me  to  receive 
such  a  treasure  in  such  a  son,  returned  to  me  again 
in  peace  and  safety,  and  with  the  rich  treasure  of  the 
grace  of  God  in  his  heart.  0  the  yearnings  of  a  fa- 
ther's bowels  over  such  a  child! 

[A  message  from  Mr.  Lovegood's  servant] 

Servant.  Sir,  'Squire  Worthy  and  his  lady,  with 
9* 


94  VILLAQE  PUI^OGUES. 

two  of  the  young  misses,  are  just  come  into  the 
hall. 

JMr.  Loveg.  to  Mrs.  Loveg.  My  dear,  will  you  go 
with  them  into  the  parlour?  [To  the  Farmer.]  Mr. 
Littleworth,  you  mqst  go  in  with  me. 

Far.  I  am  afraid  if  I  do  it  will  quite  overcome  me 
as  bad  as  ever.  But  if  you  think  it  best,  I'll  try,  and 
perhaps  the  'Squire  may  give  us  some  advice  on  this 
occasion. 

Mr.  Worthy.  [After  the  usual  salutations.]  Why, 
Mr,  Littleworth,  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  here. 
1  came  to  inquire  of  our  worthy  minister  if  he  had 
heard  any  tidings  of  your  son,  as  I  see  by  the  news- 
papers a  packet  arrived  at  Falmouth  on  Wednesday 
last  from  the  fleet  in  which  he  sailed. 

Loveg.  Mr.  Littleworth  has  a  letter  from  him,  and 
a  blessed  one  it  is  I  Would  you  let  Mr.  Worthy  see 
it,  Mr.  Littleworth  ? 

[Mr.  Littleworth  again  in  tears.] 
Far.  Yes;  but  I  cannot  read  it,  it  so  affects  m«. 
[To  Mr.  Worthy.]     If  I  had  all  your  honour's  estate, 
it  would  not  have  given  me  half  the  joy  I  have  felt 
in  receiving  that  letter. 

[Mr.  Littleworth  lends  it  to  Mr.  Worthy.] 
Mr.  Worthy.  Sir,  as  you  say  it  is  so  good  a  letter, 
if  it  contains  no  family  secrets,  may  I  read  it  out, 
that  my  eldest  daughter,  who  has  a  serious  turn  of 
mind,  may  gain  some  instruction  by  it? 

Far.  0  yes,  sir,  you  may  read  it  out,  but  then  I 
cannot  stop  to  hear  it  again. 

Loveg.  I  think,  Mr.  Littleworth,  yoy  had  better 
not  stop,  but  take  a  walk  in  the  garden  while  Mr. 
Worthy  and  I  read  over  your  son's  letter,  and  con- 
verse about  it. 

Far.  Why  yes,  sir;  if  the  'Squire  will  pardon 
me,  I  would  rather  do  so,  for  I  cannot  stand  it 
again. 


DIALOGUE  VI.  95 

[The  letter  is  again  read  over,  and  the  farnner  is  a 
second  time  introduced.] 

Mr.  Worthy.  Well,  Mr.  Littleworth,  I  must  not 
say  too  much  to  you  in  a  way  of  congratulation,  as 
you  cannot  bear  it;  but  we  have  been  planning,  that 
on  the  evening  your  son  comes  home,  Mr.  Lovegood 
had  better  give  you  the  meeting,  and  spend  the  first 
evening  with  you. 

Far.  [to  Mr.  Worthy.]  To  be  sure  it  would  be 
desperate  unmannerly  to  ask  such  a  gentleman  as  you 
are  to  come  and  meet  us;  but  in  our  old  house  I  have 
a  hall  that  would  hold  twenty  such  guests,  and  a  heart 
big  enough  to  hold  a  thousand  more. 

3Ir.  Worthy.  Thank  you,  my  kind  friend;  but 
as  Mr.  Lovegood  will  be  of  the  party,  you  will  have 
quite  company  enough  on  that  occasion. 

Mrs.  Worthy.  But  Mr.  Littleworth,  next  Wed- 
nesday three  weeks,  Mr.  Lovegood  is  to  examine 
the  Sunday  school  children,  and  preach  a  sermon  to 
them  and  their  parents  at  the  church,  and  afterwards 
Mr.  Worthy  is  to  give  them  all  a  supper  in  the  ser- 
vants' hall.  Perhaps  your  son  may  be  returned  by 
that  time,  and  then  we  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  and 
all  your  family  to  tea,  that  you  may  go  and  hear  the 
sermon. 

Far.  Ah,  madam,  if  you  and  the  'Squire  will  but 
put  up  with  our  country Jied  fashions,  to  be  sure  we 
should  be  mighty  proud  to  make  such  a  visit;  and 
perhaps  my  daughters  Polly  and  Patty  may  hear  a 
sermon  that  the  Lord  may  bless  to  their  hearts,  for 
they  are  desperate  fond  of  being  with  fine  gentlefolk' 
[Mr.  Worthy's  servant  enters  the  parlour.] 

Servant.  Sir,  Thomas  Newman  has  brought  Mr, 
Littleworth's  horse. 

Far.  Tell  him  I  shall  be  with  him  presently.  I 
thought  as  I  walked  here  it  would  be  too  much  to 
walk  home  against  the  hill,  so  1  thought  as  soon  as  the 


96  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

horses  had  done  plough,  Thomas  should  bring  one  of 
them.  My  knees  and  ankles  are  deadly  weak;  what 
have  I  suffered  by  the  gout!  but  there,  the  Lord  for- 
give me,  it  is  in  a  measure  through  my  own  wicked- 
ness, for  I  have  made  a  god  of  my  belly. 

Loveg.  Tell  Thomas  to  put  the  horse  in  my  stable, 
and  come  in  and  refresh  himself. 

Far.  0  no,  sir,  1  thank  you,  I'll  be  getting  home. 
My  wife  is  mighty  fond  of  Thomas,  though  she  does 
not  like  his  religion;  and  he  has  always  victuals 
enough  when  he  comes  to  our  house;  and  it  was 
Thomas's  good  life,  that  made  me  think  so  well  of 
your  good  sermons. 

Far,  to  Mr.  Worthy.  I  wish  your  honour  a  good 
day;  the  same  to  you,  madam. 

Worthy.  Farewell,  Mr.  Littleworth. 

[Mr.  Lovegood  goes  with  the  farmer  to  see  him 
mounted.] 

Loveg.  Well,  Thomas,  how  do  you  do  ?  how  is 
Betty  and  all  the  children  ? 

Tho.  They  are  all  very  well,  sir,  thank  the  Lord, 
except  little  Joseph,  and  he  has  been  sore  bad  with 
the  hooping-cough;  but  madam  Worthy  sent  him 
some  doctor^ s  stuff  thai  has  done  him  an  abundance  of 
good. 

Loveg.  Let  me  see,  Thomas;  Joseph  is  one  of  the 
twins. 

Tho.  Ah,  sweet  child;  and  I  felt  him  as  dear  to  me 
as  an  Isaac,  and  I  should  have  needed  an  Abraham's 
faith  to  have  parted  with  him. 

Loveg.  But  have  you  heard  that  master  Harry  is 
coming  back  again  from  sea? 

Tho.  Why,  sir,  I  heard  that  just  before  I  came 
down,  and  that  my  master  has  been  most  desperately 
affected  at  the  news.  Lord  grant  that  he  may  be 
brought  home  so  as  that  he  may  be  brought  to  God. 
Who  can  tell,  sir? 


DIALOGUE  VI.  P7 

Far.  Oh  J  Thomas,  that  is  done  already;  praise  the 
Lord,  0  my  soul;  and  all  that  is  within  me  bless  his 
holy  name! 

Tho.  What,  has  master  Harry  felt  the  converting 
grace  of  God ! 

Par.  Oh,  Thomas,  [Farmer  weeps  and  wipes  his 
eyes,]  but  I'll  tell  you  as  I  ride  along,  and  you  shall 
walk  by  me. 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Littleworth,  the  Lord  bless  and 
support  you! 

Far.  And  you  too,  sir,  a  thousand  times,  for  the 
good  you  have  done  my  immortal  soul.  [They  go 
home.     The  Farmer  continues  speaking  to  Thomas.] 

Oh,  Thomas,  you  will  be  all  amazement  to  hear 
how  broken  and  humble  and  contrite  my  son  writes 
about  his  wicked  courses. 

Tho.  Sir,  that  is  a  blessed  sign;  for  when  once  we 
are  made  to  hate  sin,  we  may  be  sure  there  is  a  divine 
change.  The  Lord  be  praised  if  master  Harry  has  been 
saved  from  his  wicked  state;  for  how  wild  and  wicked 
for  sure  he  was!  but,  sir,  if  you  and  I  do  but  think 
•what  we  once  were,  and  what  through  the  grace  of 
God  we  now  are,  we  need  despair  of  none.  Can't 
you  remember  what  Mr.  Lovegood  said  about  three 
Sundays  ago,  when  he  was  preaching  about  Christ 
being  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost:  "  Who  but  a  God 
can  tell  how  far  God's  uttermost  can  go  ?" 

Far.  Why  he  has  no  notion  how  the  Lord  has  con-f 
verted  the  heart  of  such  a  poor  old  sinner  as  I  have 
been.  How  he  will  be  surprised  when  he  comes 
home!     It  (|uite  overcomes  me  to  think  of  it. 

Tho.  Had  we  not  better  contrive  to  tell  him  this 
before-hand? 

Far*  That  we  have  contrived  already,  and  you  are 
to  go  and  meet  him  at  Mapleton,  and  Mr.  Lovegood 
is  to  come  and  sup  with  us.  0  what  a  blessed  meet- 
ing it  will  be! 


98  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Tho.  And  how  jnuch  more  blessed  still  will  be  the 
meeting  in  heaven !  But,  sir^  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  how 
came  it  all  about  ? 

Far.  Here,  Thomas  [lending  him  the  letter,]  you 
shall  take  this  letter  home  with  you,  and  you  and 
Betty  shall  read  it  together;  but  be  sure  and  take 
care  of  it,  for  I  value  it  more  than  untold  gold.  0 
howl  shall  count  the  days  till  my  son  comes  home  ! 
And  after  supper  Mr.  Lovegood  will  give  us  family 
prayer,  and  after  that  I  am  determined  in  my  poor 
fashion  to  keep  it  up;  for  then  we  shall  be  quite 
strong  when  dear  Harry  comes  home;  and  who  knows 
but  it  may  be  a  blessing  to  my  wife  and  two  daugh- 
ters. 

Tho.  Why  every  body  knows  what  a  Christian- 
like family  our  'squire's  is;  and  1  do  think  it  is  all 
on  account  of  the  wonderful  good  order  that  is  kept 
up  in  family  prayer. 

Far.  Ay,  ay,  Thomas;  and  by  the  blessing  of  God 
we'll  have  family  prayer  too;  and  Mr.  Lovegood 
says  he  will  make  a  hymn  on  purpose  upon  the  pro- 
digal's return,  and  a  brave  hymn  I'll  warrant  it  will 
be.  Thomas,  you  must  be  there  to  pitch  the  tune; 
and  Mr.  Lovegood  says  you  shall  be  clerk  at  church 
next,  if  any  thing  happens  to  old  Andrew  Snuffle. 

Tho.  Ah  dear,  how  shall  I  feel  if  ever  our  minister 
should  make  such  a  poor  simple  creature  clerk  of  our 
parish;  to  be  sure  it  would  be  a  wonderful  help  to 
me  and  my  poor  dear  Betty,  to  bring  up  our  chil- 
dren; but  I  am  sadly  afraid  Mr.  Lovegood  will  not 
be  long  mini,«iter  of  our  parish. 

Far.  The  Lord  forbid!  but  why  should  you  think 
so,  Thomas  ? 

Tho.  Why  I  am  told  our  'squire  is  to  go  next  win- 
ter to  London  to  put  one  of  his  sons  to  some  place  of 
laming.  I  hope  he  wont  stop  long,  for  all  the  poor 
people  in  our  village  are  in  a  sad  taking  when  he  is 


blALOGUE  vi.  99 

away  5  but  I  am  afraid  if  he  was  to  tell  Lord  Cancellor 
what  a  ^^T)nderful  man  our  minister  is,  the  king  (God 
bless  him)  Will  soon  make  him  lord  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury. 

[Thus  the  Farmer  and  Thomas  went  on  chatting 
till  his  arrival  at  home.  The  sequel  of  some  farther 
events  will  soon  be  presented  to  the  reader.] 


DIALOGUE  VlL 


^SQUIitE  WORTHY,  MR.  LOVEGOOD,  Mfi. 
LltTLEWdRTHj  AND  OTHERS. 


Proving  the  Utility  of  Sunday  Schools. 

Samuel  Worthy,  Esquire,  possesses  an  ample 
fortune  in  the  nortii.  His  father,  who  was  knighted 
When  he  took  up  the  county  address  on  the  birth  of 
his  present  majesty,  he  being  then  the  sheriff,  was  one 
of  those  good  old-fashioned  gentlemen,  who  used  to 
live  at  home  among  their  tenants  and  neighbours; 
giving  a  true  sample  of  the  simplicity  and  generosity 
known  in  this  kingdom  about  sixty  years  ago,  when 
no  country  gentleman  went  to  London  but  once  in 
four  or  five  years.  His  mode  of  travelling  was  in  a 
coach  and  four,  the  butler  and  groom  riding  upon  two 
other  coach  horses,  commonly  called  helpers.  They 
travelled  five  miles  an  hour,  and  about  twenty-five 
miles  a  day,  and  in  general  were  obliged  to  pass  a 
Sunday  upon  the  road.  From  the  inn  he  and  his  fa- 
mily always  went  twice  to  church;  and  he  had  no 
more  thought  of  breaking  in  on  the  solemnities  of  the 
sabbath,  than  he  had  of  robbing  on  the  highway.  You 
had  always  the  idea  of  a  funeral  procession,  passing 
through  the  village  on  the  commencement  of  this 
journey ;  but  on  his  return,  every  bell  in  the  steeple 
echoed  and  re-echoed  the  joy  of  the  inhabitants; 
when  every  grown  person  stood  at  the  door  with  a 
bow  or  a  courtesy,  and  every  child  ran  out  into  the 


DIALOGUE  Vir.  101 

street  with  a  bow  down  to  the  ground,  close  by  the 
coach  door,  to  testify  their  general  joy  on  his  happy 
return. 

While  in  London,  the  family  used  to  take  lodg- 
ings at  three  pounds  a  week,  in  some  convenient 
large  house  in  or  near  Bond  Street,  for  the  sake  of 
country  air:  even  Jirook  Street,  connected  with  it, 
was  not  then  in  existence,  and  assumed  its  name 
from  an  aunt  of  the  writer  of  these  dialogues,  who 
was  also  herself  no  distant  relation  to  the  family  of 
the  Worthies.  This  ftimily,  though  once  very  nu- 
merous, being  found  almost  in  every  country,  and 
some  of  them  even  of  noble  blood,  yet  from  a  very 
fatal  disease  which  has  of  late  years  prevailed  among 
them,  it  is  feared  the}^  will  soon  become  extinct. 
This  unhappy  mortalit}^  in  the  family  has  taken 
place  since  their  descendants  have  been  accustomed 
to  attend  so  many  bathing  and  water-drinking  places 
in  the  summer,  and  especially  since  they  have 
taken  up  their  winter's  residence  in  our  great  me- 
tropolis; and  may  be  imputed,  partly  to  the  poi- 
sonous vapours  of  the  former,  and  the  noxious  stag- 
nated air  of  the  latter.  The  venerable  knight  (a 
title  in  those  days  honourable)  kept  a  very  regular 
house.  Though  he  was  rather  /ormaZ  than  spiriliial 
in  his  religion,  yet  family  prayer  was  regularly  at- 
tended to;  nor  could  any  thing  but  sickness  detain 
the  family  from  church  and  sacrament  on  all  occa- 
sions; but,  unfortunately  for  that  gentleman,  Mr. 
Deadman  was  then  vicar  of  the  parish. 

His  son,  Mr,  S.  Worthy,  not  less  respectable  than 
his  father,  succeeded  to  the  estate  about  sixteen  years 
ago.  After  which  Mr.  Deadman  died  of  a  lethar- 
gy, and  Mr.  Lovegood  was  presented  to  the  living. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy  were  at  first  considerably  as- 
tonished at  what  was  called  his  new  doctrine,  and  felt 
some   degree  of  irritation,  though  intermixed   with 

VOL.  L  — 10 


102  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

candour.  When  they  first  heard,  they  considered 
that  as  all  the  formality  and  decency  belonging  to 
the  character  of  their  most  resjiectable  predecessor 
was  adopted  by  them,  they  were  righteous  enough 
already;  but,  by  the  wise  and  good  conduct  of  Mr. 
Lovegood,  their  prejudices  were  soon  abated;  and 
after  he  had  delivered  a  most  striking  sermon  from 
that  text,  "Thou  hast  a  name  to  Vive  and  art  dead," 
they  were  determined  to  examine  the  Bible  for  them- 
selves; and  happily  for  them,  (they  being  bred  very 
strict  church  people)  the}^  found  the  Bible  so  well 
comported  with  the  doctrines  of  the  Common  Prayer 
Book,  that  they  soon  discovered  old  Mr.  Dead  man, 
and  his  cousin-german  Mr.  Blindman,  had  preached 
no  more  the  true  doctrine  of  the  Bible,  as  it  relates 
to  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ,  than  if  they  had  been 
two  of  the  priests  of  Jupiter.  This  truly  valuable 
gentleman,  as  soon  as  he  received  good,  promoted  it 
to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  and  became  a  very  warm 
advocate  for  Sunday  Schools.  The  reader,  therefore, 
shall  know  what  passed  while  he  made  a  feast  for  a 
large  assembly  of  poor  children  and  their  parents  be- 
longing to  the  Sunday  School  of  the  parish  in  which 
he  presided. 

The  reader  must  recollect,  that  in  a  former  dia- 
logue Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy  had  invited  Farmer 
Littleworth  to  attend  the  meeting,  as  hopes  were 
then  entertained  that,  by  the  time  intended  for  the 
celebration  of  Ihis  kind  festival,  Henry  might  arrive 
from  sea:  but  the  Farmer,  having  heard  of  many 
storms  and  tempests,  was  strongly  agitated  with  a 
variety  of  doubts  and  fears,  whether  he  should  ever 
be  blessed  with  the  sight  of  a  son,  now  rendered  so 
dear  to  him  by  such  circumstances  as  have  already 
been  related.  Notwithstanding,  the  invitation  was 
accepted.  The  farmer  rode  down  to  Mr.  Worthy's, 
though  with  a  heavy  heart,  (to   see  his  son  was  now 


DIALOGUE  VII.  103 

all  in  all  to  him,)  and  Miss  Nancy  rode  behind  her 
father.  Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Patty  chose  to  walk, 
while  Sam  carried  some  new-purchased  trappings 
from  Mrs.  Flirt's,  which  were  to  be  put  on  in  Mrs. 
Trusty's  (the  housekeeper's)  room  before  they  made 
their  appearance  in  the  parlour.  Thus,  while  the 
affectation  of  the  two  misses  was  noticed  with  se- 
cret ridicule  and  contempt,  the  unaffected  simplicity 
of  Nancy  and  her  father  was  observed  with  reverence 
and  respect. 

A  little  fracas,  however,  had  just  before  happened 
between  the  Farmer  and  his  wife.  She  was  a  very 
prudent  thrifty  woman,  and  loved  this  world  better 
than  the  next:  but  now  the  Farmer's  heart  was 
opened.  Once  he  thought  of  nothing  but  how  to  get, 
now  it  was  in  his  heart  to  know  how  to  give.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  on  a  large  flitch  of  bacon,  and  after  a 
little  controversy  with  Mrs.  Littleworth,  who  still 
loved  getting  more  than  giving,  it  was  intrusted  to 
Thomas,  to  be  carried  to  the  'Squire's,  there  to  be 
catered  among  the  children,  as  an  additional  present 
to  tlie  parents  of  those  who  behaved  well. 

Mr.  Lovegood  first  led  his  family  of  little  ones 
to  the  church,  where  they  were  seated  together,  and 
surrounded  by  their  parents  and  friends;  then  chose 
some  lessons  very  appropriate,  and  made  some  afi'ec- 
tionate  and  striking  observations  as  he  read  them. — 
His  sermon,  as  designed  for  children,  was  concise, 
but  impressive;  and  knowing  that  little  minds  must 
have  short  lessons,  he  varied  the  subject  by  the  fol- 
lowing little  histories. 

First,  he  told  them  of  a  child  of  a  perverse  and 
obstinate  turn  of  mind,  who,  neither  with  nor  with- 
out correction  would  obey  her  poor  mother,  v/hose 
husband  had  cruelly  gone  away  and  left  her.  This 
child,  after  a  mild  and  moderate  correction,  went 
out  of  the   house   resentful  and  sulky,  and  drowned 


104  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

herself  in  the  brook;  from  whence  he  took  an  op- 
jDortunity  of  warning  children  against  the  evil  of  bad 
tempers,  and  of  enforcing  the  "meekness  and  gen- 
tleness which  was  in  Christ  Jesus/'  and  is  among  all 
real  Christians. 

His  next  story  was  about  a  very  lovely  boy. — 
Though  once  inclined  to  be  very  wicked,  his  heart 
afterwards  became  so  tenderl}''  impressed  with  the 
Saviours  love  to  fallen  sinners,  that  he  would  be  fre- 
quently quite  overpowered  by  the  tender  feelings  of 
his  own  mind.  He  would  even  ask  his  parent's  leave 
to  part  with  the  shoes  from  off  his  feet,  and  his  clothes 
from  off  his  back,  when  he  saw  other  poor  children, 
as  he  supposed  in  greater  want  than  him.self :  and 
when  lie  had  no  money  of  his  own  to  give,  the  dear 
child  would  even  turn  beggar  to  his  parents  and 
others  to  assist  them.  He  never  thought  of  telling 
a  lie,  beca-use  he  dreaded  the  idea  of  doing  wrong; 
and  only  wrong  things  need  to  be  covered  with  a 
lie.  And  whenever  he  saw  other  children  do  wrong, 
he  would  talk  to  them  very  gravely  and  seriously 
against  their  evil  ways;  and  even  in  his  play,  if  any 
children  behaved  cruel  or  unkind,  he  would  grieve, 
weep,  and  retire.  But  this  dear  child,  it  seems,  was 
too  full  of  heaven  to  live  on  earth.  Before  he  died, 
he  called  his  brothers  and  sisters  around  his  bed 
three  times  over,  on  the  last  three  days  of  his  life,  and 
told  them  all  that  he  was  going  to  his  dear  Saviour, 
who  had  pardoned  his  sins,  and  changed  his  heart; 
and  exhorted  them  most  affectionately  to  turn  to  the 
Lord,  and  renounce  their  sins.  He  even  cast  his 
dying  arms  around  the  necks  of  them  one  by  one, 
praying  them  to  turn  to  the  dear  Jesus,  insisting, 
with  many  tears,  that  they  should  promise  him  they 
would;  and  then  added,  "I  could  die  for  you  all  a 
thousand  times,  if  that  could  but  save  you  from  dying 


DIALOGUE  VII.  105 

In  your  sins.  0!  think  of  a  dying  Christ!  and  give 
him  your  hearts,  that  we  may  meet  again  in  glory!'^ 
After  a  most  affectionate  application  to  the  chil- 
dren, Mr.  Lovegood,  addressed  the  parents,  observing 
that,  as  a  parent,  he  knew  the  powers  of  natural 
affection;  but  urged  upon  them  an  affection  of  a  far 
more  refined  and  spiritual  nature — an  affection  for 
their  souls.  He  said,  that  correction  should  never 
be  administered,  but  in  much  tenderness  and  love: 
that  every  stripe  given  by  an  angry  hand,  from  a  re- 
vengeful heart,  increased  the  evil  for  which  the  child 
was  so  unwisely  and  unmercifully  corrected.  That 
we  should  chastise  our  children  as  the  Lord  corrects 
his;  never  in  wrath,  but  ever  in  love.  In  short,  his 
address  to  the  parents  was  not  less  wise  and  good, 
than  his  exhortation  to  the  children  was  affectionate 
and  kind;  while  every  heart  seemed  to  be  melted 
down  under  the  sweet  influence  which  attended  his 
discourse.  Nor  was  it  a  less  affecting  scene  to  observe 
with  what  difficulty  INIr.  Lovegood,  who  possessed 
very  tender  feelings,  got  through  these  stories,  and 
this  address!  How  Thomas  Newman  nodded  at  his 
lovely  group  of  little  ones,  to  excite  their  more  serious 
attention!  How  Betty  sat  with  her  babe  at  the  breast, 
praying  for  a  blessing  on  every  word!  How  Farmer 
Littleworth  wept  like  the  rain,  while  he  heard  of  the 
conversion  of  the  child,  thinking  all  the  time  on  the 
conversion  of  his  own  son!  How  Mr.  Merry  man, 
lately  recovered  from  a  dissolute  life  through  Mr. 
Lovegood,  looked  up  to  him  as  to  a  father,  with  fixed 
attention  and  a  watery  e^-e;  beholding  the  lovely 
instrument  in  the  hand  of  God,  by  whom  he  was  re- 
claimed from  a  life  miserable  and  dishonourable  to 
himself,  and  destructive  to  the  souls  of  his  parish- 
ioners: and  how  Mr.  Worthy,  with  an  elevated  smile 
of  approbation  and  delight,  rejoiced  in  the  happiness 
and  blessedness  of  the  neighbourhood,  among  whom 
10^ 


106  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

he  lived  with  aflTectionate  patriarchal  simplicity  of 
conduct;  praising  and  blessing  God  for  influencing 
the  mind  of  Lord  Cancellor  (as  Thomas  calls  him)  to 
send  such  a  man  into  that  parish — so  wise,  zealous, 
and  kind  as  dear  Mr.  Lovegood!  0  what  a  blessing 
would  Enj;land  enjoy,  were  every  parish  pulpit 
adorned  with  such  a  minister,  sanctioned  by  men 
of  such  affluence  and  character  as  good  Esquire  Wor- 
thy of  Brookrield  Hall.  Long  live  the  family,  and 
may  they  never  want  such  a  chaplain  as  Mr.  Love- 
good,  to  administer  among  them  the  blessed  word  of 
everlasting  life! 

After  the  sermon  Mr.  Lovegood  gave  out  the  fol- 
lowing hymn,  which  was  sung  b}^  the  children,  and 
Thomas  Newman  pitched  the  tune. 

What  children  like  us  have  such  cause  to  be  glad! 
What  children  such  means  of  instruction  have  had! 
Such  seasons  to  hear,  and  to  sing  of  the  Lord, 
While  many  know  nothing  of  him  or  his  word. 

We  hear  how  our  Maker  from  heaven  came  down, 

And  willingly  left  for  lost  sinners  his  throne; 
Then  taking  our  nature,  became  a  poor  child,     . 
And  us  by  his  suff' rings  to  God  reconcil'd. 

O  myst'ry  of  godliness,  wonder  of  grace! 
May  we  without  ceasing  adore  him  and  praise: 
O  teach  us  to  know  what  a  Saviour  we  have, 
To  trust  him,  and  love  him,  and  on  him  believe. 

Next  commenced  the  examination,  Mr.  Atten- 
tive, a  barber  from  Mapleton,  was  the  schoolmaster, 
who  was  appointed  to  this  office,  because  he  had 
made  a  sacrifice  of  his  daily  bread,  by  not  following 
his  occupation  on  the  Lord's-day. 

Mr.  Lovegood  wasthe  examiner.  Mrs.  Fairspeech, 
who  was  a  professor  of  that  religion  which  she  never 
possessed,  sent  her  son  with  others  to  the  Sunday 
school,  and  he  was  the  first  who  was  examined. 

Mr.    Loveg.    Well,  Bobby  Fairspeech,    what  do 


DIALOGUE  VII.  107 

you  remember  of  the  sermon  1  have  just  now  been 
preaching,? 

Boh.  I  remember  the  text,  sir. 
Loveg.  Let  us  hearyou  repeat  it. 
Bob.  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and 
forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  hea- 
ven." 

Loveg.  And  what  did  I  say   to   you  upon    that 
subject? 

Bob.  Why,  that  we  were  all  miserable  sinners,  and 
should  be  ruined  if  we  did  not  come  to  Christ. 

Loveg.  Then  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  you,  as  a  mi- 
serable sinner,  have  been   taught  to  come  to  Christ. 
Do  you  knovv  what  it  is  to.  give  him  your  heart? 
Bob.  Not  so  much  as  I  should. 
Loveg.  Why,  then,  I  fear  you  neglect  to  pray  to 
him. 

Bob.  Oh  no,  sir;  for  my  mother  would  beat  me 
sadly  if  I  did  not  say  my  prayers. 

Loveg.  Surelyj  child,  you  must  be  very  wicked 
if  you  need  to  be  beaten  to  say  your  prayers;  but  I 
should  hope  your  mother  has  a  better  way  of  teach- 
ing you  to  pray  than  by  beating  you  to  it.  I  can 
hardly  think  that  your  father,  who  is  a  sensible  man, 
though  he  does  not  come  to  church  so  often  as  he 
should,  would  allow  you  to  be  beaten  to  make  you 
pray. 

Bob.  Sir,  my  father  is  scarce  ever  at  home  when  it 
is  my  time  to  go  to  bed,  for  he  always  spends  his 
evenings  with  Mr.  Sobersides  the  saddler. 

[Mr.  Lovegood,  prudently  forbore  asking  any 
more  questions,  lest  he  should  dive  into  family  secrets 
before  the  children:  but  the  truth  was,  that  though 
Mrs.  Fairspeech  could  appear  very  soft  and  saintish 
before  others,  yet  she  was  of  a  turbulent  temper, 
self-willed,  insulting,  and  irritating  to  her  husband; 
and  after  she  had  driven  him  away  from  the  family, 


108  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

would  consume  three  times  as  much  in  applying  to 
the  gin-bottle  as  he  and  Mr.  Sobersides  did  in  a  pint 
or  two  of  beer  over  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  while  they 
read  the  newspaper,  and  conversed  on  the  politics  of 
the  day.  As  for  the  faithful  and  salutary  reproofs 
bestowed  on  Mrs.  Fairspeech,  they  were  all  spent  in 
vain;  she  still  continued  the  perpetual  grief  of  Mr. 
Lovegood's  mind,  who  hated  nothing  more  than  the 
ca7it  and  hypocrisy  of  such  false-hearted  professors.] 

We  now  attend  to  the  examination  of  Jacky 
Proud 

Loveg.  Well,  what  good  have  you  got  by  coming 
to  the  Sunday  school,  and  attending  the  church? 

Jacky.  A  great  deal,  sir, 

Loveg.  What  then,  do  you  think  you  have  a  good 
heart? 

Jacky.  I  hope  so,  sir. 

Loveg.  How  is  it  then  that  you  can  say  after  me, 
^'we  have  done  those  things  which  we  ought  not 
to  have  done,  and  left  undone  those  things  which 
we  ought  to  have  done,  and  there  is  no  health  in 
us?"  and  how  could  you  pray  that  God  would 
<'  have  mercy  on  you  a  miserable  sinner?"  1  am 
afraid  you  are  very  inattentive  to  those  excellent 
prayers  I  read  among  you  Sunday  after  Sunday; 
and  this  is  no  great  proof  of  the  goodness  of  your 
heart. 

Jacky.  Why,  sir,  my  mother  and  godmother  both 
say  I  am  a  very  good  child. 

Loveg.  But  should  you  not  rather  believe  what 
God's  word  says,  '^  Behold,  I  was  shapen  in  iniquity, 
and  in  sin  did  my  mother  conceive  me?" 

Jacky.  Sir,  I  do  my  duty  as  well  as  I  can. 

Loveg.  What  do  you  mean  b3^  doing  your  duty 
my  child? 

Jacky.  I  always  come  to  church  and  say  my 
prayers  night  and  morning. 


DIALOGUE  VII.  109 

Loveg.  But  merely  saying  your  prayers  is  not 
doing  your  duty;  for  many  people  say  their  prayers, 
and  never  mind  their  meaning;  and  instead  of  doing 
our  duty  we  commit  a  very  great  sin  in  saying  our 
prayers  in  a  thoughtless  and  negligent  manner. — But, 
in  order  that  1  may  show  you  that  your  heart  is  not 
altogether  so  good  as  you  think,  I  must  ask  you  a  few 
more  questions. — Are  you  never  angry? 

Jacky.  Not  very  often,  sir. 

Loveg.  I  did  not  ask  you  how  often  you  are  angry: 
the  Bible  says  all  causeless  anger  is  murder;  for  God 
judges  the  secrets  of  the  heart,  so  that  whenever  you 
are  angry,  you  commit  an  act  of  murder  in  your 
heart  before  him;  and  how  is  it  that  a  child,  with 
such  wickedness  in  his  nature,  can  have  a  good  heart? 

Jacky.  I  hope  1  shall  make  myself  better  by  and 
by. 

Loveg.  I  am  sorry  you  should  talk  of  making 
yourself  better;  for  when  1  teach  children  the  cate- 
chism, I  tell  them  they  can  do  nothing  without  "  God's 
special  grace;"  but  if  you  can  do  it  by  and  by,  you 
can  as  well  do  it  now;  and  I  am  sure  you  must  be  a 
bad  child  if  you  don't  wish  to  be  better  till  by  and 
by.     But  did  you  never  tell  a  lie? 

Jacky.  Why  I  told  one  the  other  day,  when  I  said 
I  was  not  proud  of  my  new  clothes. 

Loveg.  Why  then,  it  seems  you  can  not  onlj'  tell 
a  lie,  but  be  guilty  of  the  sin  of  pride.  I  am  afraid, 
my  poor  child,  your  heart  is  much  worse  than  you 
suppose. 

Jacky.  Sir,  there  are  many  children  much  ivickeder 
than  I  am,  for  I  never  say  no  bad  words. 

Loveg.  Do  you  never,  in  a  careless  manner,  say,  0 
Lord!  0  God!  0  Christ! 

Jacky.  Yes,  sir;  but  they  are  not  bad  words. 

Loveg,  No;  the  words  are  good;  but  are  not  you 


110  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

a  very  bad-hearted  child  for  ^Uaking  the  Lord's 
name  in  vain,"  when  you  are  told  in  the  third  com- 
mandment, the  "Lord  will  not  hold  him  guiltless 
that  taketh  his  name  in  vain?"  No  vvonderj  while 
you  say  your  prayers,  you  forget  what  they  mean; 
for  I  fear  that  even  then  you  "take  the  Lord's  name 
in  vain."  [The  child  is  silent.  Mr.  Lovegood  adds,] 
I  hope  you  will  soon  know  more  of  the  wickedness 
of  your  own  heart;  but  I  must  now  talk  to  Timothy 
Simple. 

[He  was  the  son  of  an  industrious  widow,  left  with 
four  children,  who  by  washing,  weeding  in  the  gar- 
den, and  running  of  errands,  collected  by  the  hand 
of  industry  every  penny  in  her  power  for  her  indi- 
gent chikiren;  now  and  then  receiving  some  occa- 
sional relief  from  the  money  given  at  the  sacrament, 
which  was  very  largely  attended  at  Mr.  Lovegood's 
church,  together  with  some  farther  support,  ever 
flowing  to  all  known  subjects  of  human  wo,  who 
come  within  the  knowledge  of  the  honourable  pos- 
•sessors  of  Brookfield  Hall.] 

Loveg.  Well,  Timothy,  my  child,  what  do  you 
think  of  your  heart?  Is  it  as  good  as  Jacky 
Proud's? 

Tim.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  good  as  I  should  be; 
but  I  hope  God  will  make  me  better. 

Loveg.  Then  you  believe  in  what  I  have  frequently 
taught  you,  that  we  can  do  nothing  <' without  God's 
special  grace?" 

Tim.  Oh  yes,  sir,  for  I  am  afraid  my  heart  is  very 
wicked. 

Loveg.  Why  do  you  think  so? 

Tim.  I  am  ashamed  to  tell,  sir. 

Loveg.  Well,  my  good  child,  I  am  very  glad  to 
hear  you  say  you  are  ashamed  of  your  sins;  for, 
when  that  is  the  case,  our  most  merciful  Saviour  will 


DIALOGUE  VII.  Ill 

not  only  pardon  your  sins,  but  by  his  grace  will 
change  your  lieart. 

Tim.  I  hope  he  will,  sir,  for  sure  I  am  it  is  very 
hard;  for  when  you  told  that  stor}^,  though  other 
children  cried  much,  I  could  hardly  cry  at  all;  and 
yet  I  should  be  very  glad  if  the  Lord  would  make 
me  as  good  a  child  as  he  was. 

Loveg.  So  he  will,  my  child,  if  you  will  call  upon 
him  in  humble  prayer. 

Tim.  Sir,  I  always  says  the  prayers  out  of  the  little 
book  you  gave  me,  but  I  am  very  forgetful  while  I 
say  them.  I  wish  I  was  as  good  as  sister  Sally,  and 
as  my  mother  wishes  me  to  be. 

Loveg.  Is  it  not  a  great  blessing  from  the  Lord 
that  you  have  such  a  good  mother  and  sister? 

Tim.  Yes,  sir,  I  thank  the  Lord  for  it!  for  you 
often  tell  us,  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  grace  of  God 
we  should  be  all  very  wicked. 

Loveg.  And  should  you  not  be  very  grateful  and 
obedient  to  your  mother,  for  working  so  hard,  that 
you  may  have  a  little  bread,  and  some  decent  clothes? 

Tim.  0  yes,  sir,  and  she  thanks  God  Almighty 
every  day  for  sending  you  into  our  parish;  for  she 
says  she  was  not  a  good  woman  till  you  came. 

Loveg.  But  you  know,  my  child,  there  are  many 
bad  people  still  living  in  the  parish  since  I  have  been 
your  minister.  How  came  your  mother  to  be  better, 
while  they  continue  in  the  same  bad  state? 

Tim,  Why,  sir,  you  often  tell  us  about  regenera- 
tion and  a  new  heart;  and  that  makes  my  mother  a 
good  woman,  because  she  has  a  new  heart. 

Loveg.  Then  you  believe  that  all  people  who  have 
new  hearts  will  be  good  people. 

Thn.  Yes,  sir;  for  it  is  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God 
who  gives  us  these  new  hearts,  that  we  may,  by  his 
grace,  love  God  and  keep  his  commandments.     And 


112  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

the  reason  why  people  are  so  wicked  is,  because  they 
have  not  God's  Holy  Spirit  in  their  hearts. 

Loveg.  Can  you  prove  this  by  some  text  of  scrip- 
ture? 

Tim.  My  memory  is  very  bad,  but  I  remember 
one. 

Loveg.  What  is  that,  my  child? 
Tim.  Sir,  it  is  the  text  you  preached  from  two 
Sundays  ago:  "Ye  are  not  in  the  flesh  but  in  the 
Spirit,  if  so  be  that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwell  in  you. 
Now  if  any  man  have  not  the  Spirit  of  Christ  he  is 
none  of  his.'' 

[The  rest  of  Timothy's  answers  were  in  the  same 
st3ie;  he  was  a  simple-hearted  affectionate  child,  and 
his  good  natural  disposition  was  well  cultivated  and 
improved  by  Mr.  Lovegood's  diligent  attention  to 
the  poor  children  of  the  parish.  Immedialely  after  his 
examination,  the  Esquire  thought  proper  that  he  should 
he  rewarded  with  a  Bible,  which  he  most  gratefully  and 
thankfully  received. 

Richard  Heedless's  child  was  next  examined, 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Attentive,  how  does  this  child 
come  on?  Though  he  comes  to  the  Sunday  school, 
I  never  see  his  father  at  church. 

Jlttent.  I  am  afraid,  sir,  his  church  is  at  the  Nag's 
Head  in  Mapleton. 

Loveg.  Well,  but  if  the  father  acts  improperly, 
that  is  no  reason  why  the  child  may  not  receive 
good. 

Jlttent.  Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  get  him  on  at  any  rate: 
for  all  that  he  receives  on  the  Sunday  he  forgets  on 
the  week  days,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  for  the  sake 
of  the  feast  that  we  see  him  now. 

Mr.  Lovegood  to  J\*ed  Heedless.  Why,  my  child, 
how  is  it  that  1  hear  all  this  of  you?  but  let  us  see  if 
you  understand  any  thing.     Who  made  you? 

Md.  God  Almighty. 


DIALOGUE  VII.  113 

Loveg.  What  did  he  mak^  you  for? 

J^Ted.  To  do  my  daty,  and  mind  my  religion. 

Loveg.  But  do  you  do  your  duty,  and  mind  reli- 
gion as  you  ought? 

JS'^ed.  1  do  it  as  well  as  my  father. 

Loveg.  i  am  afraid  if  you  do  no  better,  your  duly 
is  miserably  done;  but  tell  me  who  redeemed  you? 

JYed.  Mr.  Littleworth  redeemed  us  last  Monday. 

Loveg.  to  Mr.  Littleworth.  What  can  this  poor  child 
mean,  by  saying  you  redeemed  them? 

Littlew.  Truly,  sir,  I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  is  that  I 
stopped  his  father's  wages  to  redeem  his  clotlies  out 
of  pawn;  for  after  he  had  been  two  days  drunk  at 
Mapleton  revel,  he  pledged  every  bit  of  decent  clothes 
he  had  to  pay  his  alehouse  debts:  and  when  I  saw 
him  such  a  dirty  ragged  fellow,  I  told  him  he  should 
work  for  me  no  more  till  he  had  taken  his  clothes 
from  the  pawn-broker's. 

Loveg.  to  Heedless.  I  fear,  Master  Heedless,  your 
son's  ignorance  is  to  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  your 
wickedness. 

Heedl.  Your  honour,  it  can't  be  expected  that  1 
should  be  able  to  instruct  my  children,  for  I  was  never 
bred  to  no  laming. 

Loveg.  Why  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who 
were  never  bred  to  learning  have  yet  been  blessed 
with  grace;  and  you  can't  suppose  you  need  to  be  a 
bad  man,  because  you  are  a  poor  man:  nor  need  you 
be  the  poor  man  you  now  are,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
wickedness  of  your  heart.     Do  you  ever  pray? 

Heedl.  Why,  sir,  morels  the  pity,  I  cannot  read. 

Loveg.  I  did  not  ask  you  if  you  could  read,  but  can 
you  pray? 

Heedl  I  can  say  the  Lord's  prayer  from  top  to 
bottom. 

Loveg.  And  is  this  all  your  religion  ?  I  fear  you 
VOL.  i.=^l  1 


114  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

are  in  a  dreadful  state.  Here,  Richard,  is  a  book  for 
you,  ^^A  compassionate  Address;"  and  Thomas  New- 
man, who  is  almost  your  next  neighbour,  can  read 
very  well,  and  I  dare  say  he  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
read  it  to  you. 

Tho.  Why,  Richard  knows  I  would  be  glad  to 
read  to  him  for  his  good,  whenever  I  can  spare  time. 

Loveg.  Well,  Thomas,  we  will  next  hear  what 
improvement  your  boy  has  made. — [To  young  Tho- 
mas.]— By  whom  were  all  things  created,  and  by 
\vhom  are  they  upheld  and  preserved  ? 

Tho.  By  the  Almighty  God< 


Loveg.  And  who  is  the  Almighty  God 


Tho.  He  is  a  most  holy  Spirit. 

Loveg.  And  how  should  you  serve  him? 

Tho.  "In  spirit  and  in  truth." 

Loveg.  And  do  you  think  you  do  your  duty  as 
God  demands;  for  you  know  at  all  times  he  sees  and 
hears  all  you  say  and  do. 

Tho.  Sir,  I  know  I  often  forget  God,  though  he 
knows  me  much  better  than  I  know  myself. 

Loveg.  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  God  is  Al- 
mighty? 

Tho.  I  believe  he  is  Almighty,  because  he  can  do 
every  thing,  and  that  he  sees  and  knows  the  ways 
and  hearts  of  all. 

Loveg.  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  he  is  holy? 

Tho.  Why,  he  is  holy  because  he  loves  nothing 
but  that  which  is  good,  like  himself.  All  holy  men 
and  holy  angels  are  his  delight. 

Loveg.  But,  my  good  boy,  what  do  you  mean  by 
holiness? 

Tho.  It  is  loving  God  with  all  our  hearts,  with  all 
our  minds,  and  souls  and  strength,  and  our  neigh- 
bours as  ourselves. 

Loveg.  What  is  sin  then,  my  child  ? 


DIALOGUE  yil.  115 

y/to.  Why,  whenever  we  neglect  to  love  and  fear 
and  trust  in  God,  and  pray  to  him,  and  serve  him,  we 
sin  against  him ;  and  whenever  we  are  angry,  unjust, 
and  neglectful  in  our  duty  towards  our  parents,  our 
governors,  and  our  neighbours,  we  do  wrong,  because 
we  sin  against  his  holy  and  just  commands. 

Loveg.  But  if  God  be  so  very  holy,  are  not  we  all 
ver}^  miserable  sinners  before  him? 

T/io.  Yes.  The^Bible  says,  "  There  is  none  righte- 
ous, no  not  one;"  but  I  think  my  father  and  mother 
are  very  good,  and  so  are  you  and  'Squire  Worthy. 

Loveg.  Well,  but  you  knovv  we  must  all  say,  "By 
the  grace  of  God  I  arn  what  I  am." 

Tlw.  Yes,  sir;  and  my  father  always  says  such  sort 
of  words  when  he  prays  with  us. 

Loveg.  What  do  you  mean  by  the  grace  of  God? 

Tho.  Why,  my  father  has  taught  me  this  text, 
"You  know  the  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ; 
though  he  was  rich,  yet  for  our  sakes  he  became  poor, 
that  we  through  his  poverty  might  be  made  rich." 

Loveg.  What  do  you  mean  by  the  grace  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ? 

Tho.  That  he  died  for  us  poor  sinners  on  the  cross. 

Loveg.  What  then,  are  all  poor  sinners  to  be  saved, 
because  Christ  died  on  the  cross? 

Tho.  O  no,  sir,  for  you  tell  us  from  the  pulpit, 
that  if  we  reject  Christ,  Christ  will  reject  us;  and  that 
all  sinners  who  come  to  Christ  will  have  their  hearts 
changed  and  purified  by  his  Spirit;  and  that  without 
holiness  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord.  You  have  been 
just  now  saying  to  us,  that  every  child  must  know 
the  way  of  sin  to  be  the  high  road  to  hell :  but  I  pray 
the  Lord  to  convert  me  by  his  grace,  that  1  may  live 
to  his  glory. 

Loveg.  The  Lord  bless  you,  my  good  boy.  I  am 
very  glad  you  have  been  able  to  attend  so  well  to  the 
instruction  of  your  father,  and  that  you  get  so  much 


116  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

good  by  coming  to  the  Sunday  school:  and  as  our 
worthy  Esquire  has  given  me  some  Bibles  to  distri- 
bute among  the  children  who  know  how  to  make  a 
good  use  of  them,  I  shall  give  you  one  of  the  best  of 
them.  [Mr.  Lovegood  gives  him  a  Bible.]  Remem- 
ber now  that  this  is  your  own  book,  and  the  book  of 
God's,  own  writing,  to  make  us  wise  unto  salvation. 
Now  turn  round  and  thank  the  'Squire  for  his  pre- 
sent. 

Tho.  [With  a  bow  down  to  the  ground.]  1  thank 
your  honour  a  thousand  times. 

The  reader  is  to  taKe  this  as  a  brief  sample  among 
many,  how  Mr.  Lovegood  examined  some  of  the 
children;  and  as  an  illustration  of  v/hat  he  conceived 
to  be  the  wisest  way  to  impress  the  truths  of  religion 
on  their  young  minds.  He  was  well  convinced  that 
a  mere  c<atechism  enforced  upon  a  child's  memory 
by  painful  exertions,  however  good  in  its  place,  was 
likely  to  produce  but  a  slender  effect,  without  a  more 
familiar  method  of  instruction, administered  according 
to  the  ability  and  disposition  of  each  child.  After  a 
considerable  time  being  employed  in  examining  se- 
veral of  the  girls,  as  well  as  the  boys,  they  were  all 
led  through  tiie  park  to  Brookfield  Hall,  where  they 
found  a  bountiful,  but  plain  feast  provided  for  them, 
vyith  plenty  of  pies  and  puddings  for  the  children. 

Supper  being  ended,  the  following  hymn  was  sung. 

Christ's  care  for  his  lambs. 

Let  praise  to  our  Shepherd  begin, 

VVho  tenderly  makes  us  his  care; 
Wlio  came  to  redecni  us  koiyx  sin, 

And  guard  us  from  every  snare. 
His  pastoral  love  we  adore, 

Who  clasps  in  so  dear  an  embraces^ 
The  souls  tliat  liis  mercy  implore, 

To  save  them  by  infinite  grace. 


DIALOGUE  VU.  117 

Kor  shall  the  poor  lambs  of  his  flock 

Want  pasture,  or  clear-running  stream;. 
Or  shadow  of  sheltering  rock, 

Or  warmth  of  enlivening  beam:  * 

He  too  in  his  besom  shall  bear 

The  weary  that  pant  for  his  rest ; 
No  lamb  of  thera  all  but  shall  shai;e 

A  heaven  of  love  in  hia  b;'east. 

Then  helpless  and  weak  as  we  are, 

O  let  us  for  ever  abide 
Close  under  the  eye  of  his  care, 

Feed  all  the  day  long  at  his  side ! 
He  will  not  a  moment  depart ; 

O  why  from  his  side  should  we  rove;. 
Or  grieve  his  compassionate  heart, 

So  plenteous  in  mercy  and  love! 

After  this,  young  Mr.  Merry  man,  b.y  Mr.  Love- 
good's  desire,  concluded  the  festivity  with  a  tender 
and  affectionate  prayer,  while  his  heart  was  much 
impressed  with  the  recollection  of  what  a  different 
course  he  once  pursued,  before,  by  Mr.  Lovegood's 
ministry,  he  was  broug^l^t  to  know  the  grace  of  God 
in  truth.  Mr.  Littleworth's  flitch  was  next  pro- 
duced, and  after  such  apologies  as  might  be  expected 
from  the  Farmer  to  his  honour  and  madam  Worthy, 
it  was  catered  among  the  children,  according  to  the 
size  of  the  families:  though,  when  he  was  carving  for 
young  Thomas,  it  evidently  appeared  that  the  Far- 
mer's knife  very  favourably  slipped  aside,  through  a 
little  partiality  on  his  behalf. 

The  Farmer  and  his  family  were  next  ushered  into 
the  parlour  to  tea.  Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Patty  con- 
tinued to  expose  themselves  by  pretending  to  talk 
about  fashions,  and  by  making  use  of  fine  words, 
which  they  ill  understood,  while  Mr.  Lovegood  con- 
stantly aimed  at  giving  a  more  profitable  turn  to  the 
conversation,  which  was  easily  done  between  the 
Farmer  and  Miss  Nancy.  Henry's  conversion,  and 
11* 


118  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

the  fears  and  hopes  concerning  his  return,  still  en- 
grossed the  substance  of  all  he  had  to  say;  the  anxiety 
of  his  heart  for  his  beloved  Henry  being  now  the 
lirst  subject  on  every  occasion.  On  their  return  home, 
Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Patty  had  enough  to  do  in  find- 
ing fault  with  each  other  respecting  manners  and 
dress,  and  such  trifling  subjects,  while  the  simple, 
yet  profitable,  conversation  between  the  Farmer, 
Miss  Nancy,  and  Thomas,  proved  their  hearts  were 
truly  fixed  on  "  the  one  thing  needful."  Thomas, 
however,  had  abundance  of  fault  to  find  with  him- 
self, being  full  of  fears  lest  the  condescending  fami- 
liarity of  the  ^Squire  had  thrown  him  ofl*  his  guard; 
he  being  unacquainted  with  the  unaflected  simplicity 
and  real  courtesy  of  his  own  manners,  was  not  sensi- 
ble that  the  best  Christian  is  the  best  gentleman,  all 
over  the  world, 


DIALOGUE  VIII. 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN. 


FARMER    LITTLEWORTH,  HIS  SON  HENRY,   MR.  LOVE- 
GOOD,  AND  OTHERS. 

Henry  Littleworth  was  detained  at  sea  by  con- 
trary winds  three  weeks  longer  than  was  expected. 
Many  reports  having  prevailed  of  storms  and  ship- 
wrecks, the  Farmer's  mind  was  filled  with  sad  ap- 
prehensions for  the  fate  of  his  son;  the  subject  of  his 
daily  talk,  and  now  the  object  of  his  most  affectionate 
regard.  At  length  he  arrived  at  Mr.  Vintner's  of 
the  George,  and,  according  to  the  plan  preconcerted, 
was  directed  to  Mr.  Traffick's  of  the  shop,  where  the 
following  letter  from  his  father,  after  the  usual  salu- 
tations, was  put  into  his  hands. 

"  MY  MOST  DEAR  CHILD, 

"For  sure  and  certain  I  never  shall  be  able  to 
thank  the  Lord  enough  for  your  letter.  Oh,  how  I 
bless  his  name  that  he  has  converted  and  saved  such 
a  wicked  sinner  as  you  have  been!  but  you  know, 
my  dear  Harry,  I  was  a  much  wickeder  sinner  than 
you;  and  our  most  merciful  Saviour  has  visited  me 
with  his  grace;  and  now  how  happy  and  joyful  shall 
we  be  together  as  soon  as  you  come  home  I  But  I 
beg  and  pray  af  you,  my  dear  child,  when  we  meet, 
don't  tell  me  how  wicked  you  have  been  to  me,  or  I 
must  tell  you  how  wicked  1  have  been  to  you,  in  set- 
ting you  such  a  bad  example.     Oh,  no!  we  must 


120  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

never  talk  to  each  other  about  these  matters;,  for  this, 
would  cut  me  to  the  heart,  and  kill  me  outright;  for 
as  I  write,  I  can  scarcely  see  to  go  on,  because  the 
tears  run  down  my  cheeks  so  fast  while  I  think  of  the 
wonderful  love  of  Christ,  which  has  met  with  two 
such  vile  sinners  as  we  have  been:  and  since  he  has 
loved  and  pardoned  us  both,  how  sweetly  shall  we 
love  and  pardon  each  other! 

"My  dear  child,  that  very  Mr.  Lovegood,  which 
we  all  used  so  to  ridicule,  is  the  dear  man  who  has 
brought  my  soul  to  God.  Nobody  can  tell  what  a 
dear  servant  of  God  he  is;  and  I  and  your  sister 
Nancy  go  to  his  church  every  Sunday,  and  he  is  to 
meet  you  at  our  house  the  first  da}^  you  come  home; 
and  Billy  Traffick,  a  most  sweet  Christian  boy,  and 
who  always  attends  our  church,  is  to  come  up  to 
our  house  with  you;  and  as  you  are  lame,  I  shall 
send  a  horse  for  you;  so  I  need  write  no  more,  as  I 
hope  to  see  you  so  soon.  My  dear  child,  from  your 
affectionate  father, 

Simon  Little wouth." 

The  reader  must  be  left  to  suppose,  after  Henry 
had  read  the  letter,  what  were  his  feelings  on  such  an 
unexpected,  yet  joyful  and  affecting  event.  No  won-, 
der  that  under  such  circumstances  he  was  too  much 
surprised  and  affected  to  speak.  After  soijie  time,. 
Billy  Traffick  began  the  conversation. 

Billy.  Come,  come;  wipe  your  eyes^  and  praise  the 
Lord  for  his  mercies;,  see  what  love  and  grace  he  has 
been  pouring  down  upon  your  family,  and  upon  many 
more  in  these  parts  since  you  left  us. 

Henry.  What!  and  are  my  father  and  my  sister 
Nancy  indeed  converted  to  God!  And  does  Mr. 
Lovegood  preach  the  gospel  to  poor  sinners  at  Brook-, 
field  church. 

Billy.   Yes,  indeed,  your  father,  by  the  grace  of 


DIALOGUE  VHi.  121 

God,  for  nearly  these  two  years,  has  been  a  wonder- 
fully altered  man;  and  Mr.  Lovegood  is  a  most 
blessed  and  affectionate  minister  of  Christ. 

Henry.  [Still  weeping.]  My  God!  what  mercies 
are  these  to  such  a  vile  wretch  as  I  have  been!  What 
between  joy  and  grief,  how  shall  I  support  it !  and 
how  shall  I  be  able  to  meet  my  dear  father! 

Mr.  Traffick.  Mr.  Henry,  your  father  has  desired 
that  I  w^ould  mention  to  you  not  to  say  any  thing 
respecting  matters  that  are  past,  as  that  will  affect  him 
too  much.  You  are  to  go  home  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

Henry.  How  can  that  be  ?  for,  oh,  what  blessed 
things  have  happened  since  1,  a  poor  prodigal  sinner, 
left  his  house  near  four  years  ago!  But  are  there  no 
signs  of  grace  upon  the  hearts  of  my  poor  mother  and 
my  other  two  sisters  ? 

Traffick.  I  fear  not  at  present;  though  I  am  told 
your  mother  is  not  so  vehement  against  your  worthy 
father  as  formerly;  for  Mr.  Dolittle  and  Dr.  Dronish 
at  first  tried  to  set  all  the  parish  against  him. 

Henry.  Why,  Mr.  Traffick,  was  not  you  bred  a  dis- 
senter ?  I  thought  you  always  went  to  Dr.  Dronish's 
meeting. 

Traffick.  Yes,  Mr.  Henry;  but  since  God  in  his 
gracious  providence  has  sent  Mr.  Lovegood  into  these 
parts,  we  have  been  convinced  that  it  is  better  to  fol- 
low the  gospel,  than  a  party.  So  we  have  left  the 
meeting,  and  do  not  mean  to  go  there  again,  unless 
we  should  have  the  same  gospel  preached  there  as 
once  was,  when  old  Mr.  Trueman  was  the  minister 
in  my  father's  time;  so  we  all  go  to  Brookfield 
church,  excepting  my  old  uncle,  who  says  he  is  de- 
termined to  live  and  die  in  the  religion  in  which  he 
was  bred  and  born. 

Billy.  And  we  shall  hope  to  see  you  there  next 
Sunday ;  yes,  and  it  is  sacrament  Sunday,  and  my 


122  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

father  and  1  always  attend  the  communion.  We  don't 
mind  about  being  bred  dissenters,  provided  we  can 
hold  communion  with  the  people  of  God. 

Henry.  Oh!  how  this  again  overcomes  me!  I 
have  had  a  thousand  fears  what  my  poor  father  would 
say  to  me,  for  my  former  had  conduct;  then  how  he 
would  oppose  me  on  account  of  religion;  for  though 
in  all  other  respects  I  knew  the  Lord  hath  inclined 
my  heart  to  be  as  obedient  as  a  lamb;  yet  on  a  Sun- 
day I  was  determined  to  travel,  lame  as  1  am,  twenty 
miles  a  day,  provided  I  could  but  reach  any  place  of 
worship,  whether  at  a  church  or  a  meeting  of  any 
sort,  where  1  could  hear  the  blessed  sound  of  the 
Gospel;  but  instead  of  all  my  fears,  God  has  provided 
for  me  all  that  my  heart  could  wish,  and  almost  close 
to  the  door.  Well,  there  by  the  help  of  God  I  will 
go,  and  to  the  sacrament  too,  that  we  may  all  give 
ourselves  up  entirely  to  the  Lord,  if  Mr.  Lovegood 
will  permit  me. 

Billy.  There  is  no  doubt  of  that;  for  your  letter, 
which  you  sent  from  Antigua,  affected  him  almost  as 
much  as  it  did  your  father;  and  he  believes,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  your  heart  is  really  changed. 

Henry.  0,howlittle  I  thought  of  such  blessed  events 
as  these  when  I  left  my  father's  house,  while  living 
in  all  sorts  of  sin;  and  what  will  my  dear  father  feel, 
when  he  sees  his  poor  prodigal  kneeling  by  him,  at 
that  most  blessed  feast  of  love  ?  Yes,  jLhere  I  will  go, 
and  at  once  join  myself  with  the  dear  children  of 
God  wherever  I  can  find  them;  that  all  may  know 
that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  am  determined  to  give 
myself  up  to  lead  another  life. 

[Mr.  Traffick  is  called  into  the  shop,  and  Will 
Frolick  comes  in.] 

Frolick.  [To  Mr,  Traffick.]  Is  not  Harry  Little- 
worth  come  from  sea  ?  I  hear  he  is  at  your  house ; 
mayn't  I  step  in  and  ask  him  how  he  does  ? 


DIALOGUE  VII r.  123 

Traffick.  Yes;  but  you  won't  find  him  the  same 
man  now  as  when  you  and  he,  and  the  rest  of  you, 
kept  our  town  in  a  perpetual  uproar. 

Frolick.  Why,  I  have  heard  that  he  has  received 
a  bad  wound,  and  that  since  then  he  has  taken  a 
mighty  religious  turn;  and  I  wonder  at  that,  when 
he  was  such  an  admirer  of  Paine's  *^  Age  of  Rea- 
son." 

Traffick.  Reason  !  what  do  you  mean  by  reason, 
while  you  were  all  living  together  like  so  many  mad- 
men ? 

Frolick,  Well,  though  his  father  has  been  frequent- 
ly preac/img  about  his  wonderful  conversion  at  Ma- 
pleton  market,  I  suppose  he  is  not  so  grave  but  what 
he  will  shake  hands  with  me,  if  I  go  in  to  see  him, 
for  he  was  a  merry  fellow  when  he  left  us. 

Traffick.  You  know  the  old  proverb,  Mr.  Frolick, 
"  Be  merry  and  wise;"  but  when  we  were  at  family 
prayer,  while  you,  and  he,  and  others,  were  revelling 
about  the  town,  you  used  to  disturb  us  by  rapping  at 
our  windows  and  doors;  if  this  was  a  sign  that  you 
were  merry,  it  was  no  evidence  that  either  you  or 
he,  in  those  days,  were  wise.  But  you  may  go  in  to 
him  if  you  please.  My  son  and  he  are  together. 
[Frolick  goes  in.] 

Frolick.  Well,  Harry,  how  are  you  ?  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  home  again;  for  we  all  began  to  think  you 
was  gone  to  the  bottom. 

Henry.  I  thank  you,  William;  but  you  must  sup- 
pose it  would  have  been  a  terrible  sinking  to  me  if  I 
had  gone  to  the  bottom ;  for  you  know  the  horrid 
state  we  were  both  in  before  I  went  to  sea;  neither 
of  us  were  fit  to  live  in  this  world  or  the  next. 

Frolick.  Why,  I  am  told  )^ou  are  become  very  re- 
ligious; but  as  for  my  part,  1  confess,  I  had  rather 
stop  a  little  longer  first. 


i24 


VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 


J^illy.  Really,  it  is  shocking  to  hear  j^ou  talk;  it 
is  dreadful,  when  people  can  scoff  even  at  death  itself. 
You  know  it  was  but  the  other  day  that  young  Cap- 
tain Rakish,  my  Lord's  second  son,  died,  after  about 
three  day's  illness,  of  a  stoppage  in  his  bowels;  and  it 
is  well  known  in  what  despair  and  agony  he  left  this 
world,  and  what  awful  things  he  said  to  his  father  for 
having  encouraged  and  introduced  him  into  all  sorts 
of  sin ;  and  what  he  said  to  another  young  officer  who 
came  to  see  him  just  before  he  died. 

Frolick.  Why,  what  did  he  say  ? 

Billy.  "  I  have  been  assisting  with  yOU  to  conquer 
the  enemies  of  our  king  and  country,  while  1  have 
madly  suffered  myself  to  be  conquered  by  the  enemy 
of  souls."  And  then  he  (iried,  "  The  battle  is 
fought,  the  battle  is  fought,  the  battle  is  fought; 
but  the  victory  is  lost  for  ever."  I  would  not  have 
lived  and  died  as  he  did  for  a  thousand  such  worlds 
as  this. 

Frolick.  Well,  well,  for  all  this  I  should  like  to  live 
a  merry  life  while  I  live ;  and  be  a  good  penitent  when 
1  come  to  die;  and  that  is  my  creed.  1  have  no  no- 
tion of  being  a  saint  too  soon. 

Henry.  My  dear  Williamj  let  me  be  serious  with 
you.  I  confess  with  shame  I  have  been  till  of  late 
dmong  the  number  of  those  "fools  who  make  a 
mock  of  sin;"  I  now  grieve  to  think  what  a  bold, 
hardened  profligate  1  have  been;  and  how  I  have 
corrupted  you  and  others  by  my  bad  example.  I 
confess,  I  have  had  deep  sorrow  for  my  sinful  con- 
duct; but  never  felt  any  remorse  in  the  blessed  ser- 
vice of  God.  While  I  lived,  as  I  fear  you  live,  I  tried 
all  1  could  to  laugh  and  joke  away  my  misery;  but 
in  all  my  mirth  I  carried  a  gnawing  hell  within.  I 
was  a  self-tormentor  every  moment  of  my  life,  and  I 
know  that  none  of  us  could  bear  reflection;  and  in 
what  we  called  our  jovial  songs,  we  could  blasphe- 


DIALOGUE  viir.  125 

mously  curse  the  passing  bell  for  interrupting  us,  and 
still  continue  our  rebellious,  profane,  and  filthy  con- 
versation;   despising  all  subordination   to  the  laws 
of  God  and  man,  because,  in  the  height  of  our  wick- 
edness, we  could  not  bear  the  least  restraint.     And 
what  were  our  reflections  when  we  were  in  our  beds! 
As  to   myself,   never  could  I   sleep,  till  1  was  worn 
out  by  my  rakish  conduct.     While  I  slept  1  was  tor- 
mented by  dreams;  and  when  I  awoke  I  rose  with 
nothing  but  discontent  and  disgust  against  myself. 
The  sight  even  of  my  parents  was  a  horror  to  me, 
while  the  extravagant  fruits  of  my  vile  conduct  I 
dreaded  every  moment  of  my  life.     From  this  hell 
of  misery  I  made  for  myself,  I  was  madly  driven  into 
another  hell — a  man  of  war!     There  I  saw  sin  in  its 
horrid  perfection,  without  any  of  those  earthly  grati- 
fications to  comfort  me,  which  I  found  in  my  father's 
house,  and  which  I  so  ungratefully  forsook.     I  now 
most  humbly  implore  your  forgiveness  for  the  mis- 
chief I  have  done  you,  my  dear  William,  and  others 
by  my  conduct,   and   affectionately  request  you   to 
seek  forgiveness  from  that  most  merciful  Saviour, 
whose  free  salvation  I  must  for  ever  adore  in  changing 
the  heart,  and  pardoning  the  sins  of  a  wretch  once  so 
vile.     I  now  live  a  wonder  to  myself,  that  my  own 
wickedness  has  not  procured  my  eternal  ruin.      Let 
one  who  has  been  your  fellow  sinner  entreat  you   to 
become  his  fellow  traveller  in  the  blessed  ways  of 
God. 

[Henry  was  now  so  overcome  by  his  own  thoughts 
that  he  could  say  no  more,  till  he  was  interrupted  by 
a  message  that  Thomas  Newman  had  brought  the 
horses,  to  convey  him  to  his  father's  house  at  Grace- 
hill  farm. 

Mr.  Traffick  comes  in  from  the  shop.] 
Traffick.   Mr.  Henry,  Thomas  Newman  is  come 
with  the  horses;  you  must  get  yourself  ready. 
VOL.  I. — 12 


126  VILLAGE  DIALOGITES. 

Henry.  Thomas  Newman !  why  is  that  the  poor 
man  who  worked  for  my  father,  and  the  same  we  used 
to  ridicule  on  account  of  his  reh'gion? 

Traffock.  Yes;  and  a  truly  good  man  he  is;  he  is 
only  gone  to  the  butcher's  for  a  joint  of  veal,  to  be 
roasted  for  supper;  for  your  father  says,  they  must 
have  a  piece  of  the  fatted  calf,  that  they  may  all  eat 
and  be  merry,  because  you  are  come  home. 

Henry.  Whatjfor  such  a  wretch  asl!  [Henry  weeps 
and  adds,]  Oh,  what  a  loving,  forgiving,  uniting  spi- 
rit does  the  grace  of  Christ  create  among  those  whose 
hearts  have  tasted  of  his  love! 

[Henry  is  mounted,  and  rides  home  with  Thomas, 
and  Billy  Traffick  walks  with  them.] 

Henry.  Well,  Thomas,  how  do  my  dear  father  and 
mother  do? 

TliO.  Oh,  sir,  your  worthy  father  is  very  well,  con- 
sidering; but  he  takes  on  wonderfully  at  the  thoughts 
of  seeing  you. 

Henry.  And  well  he  may,  when  he  receives  into 
his  house  such  an  ungrateful  wretch  as  I  have  been! 

Tho.  0,  no,  master  Henry,  that  is  not  the  cause; 
it  is  because  the  Lord  has  so  mercifully  met  with  you 
and  changed  your  heart;  ay,  and  it  is  wonderful  how 
his  heart  has  been  changed  by  the  grace  of  God  since 
you  left  us. 

Henry.  Why,  Thomas,  they  say  Mr.  Lovegood 
is  a  most  faithful  and  affectionate  preacher  of  the 
gospel, 

T/io.  Ay,  that  he  is,  as  ever  lived:  to  be  sure,  he 
is  the  finest  man  in  all  the  world  ;  and  it  will  do  you 
good  to  see  how  your  worthy  father  stands  up  in  the 
pew,  and  how,  at  times,  the  tears  keep  running  down 
his  cheeks,  while  he  hears  him  preach  the  precious 
word  of  life  among  us  poor  sinners;  and  you  can 
have  no  conceivance  what  a  many  good  people  there 
are  up  and  down  the  country;  and  how  our  church 


DIALOGUE  Vlil.  127 

IS  crowded  Sunday  after  Sunday;  and  what  a  many 
abominable  wicked  sinners  have  been  converted  to 
God,  and  how  happy  and  loving  we  all  are  together. 

Henry.  Why,  what  you  tell  me  seems  quite  like 
a  dream:  it  is  like  coming  out  of  hell  into  heaven. — 
But  is  not  that  my  father  and  one  of  my  sisters 
coming  to  meet  us? 

Tho.  Yes;  it  is  your  father  and  JVIiss  Nancy. — 
Dear  old  gentleman!  he  is  coming  out  to  meet  you, 
as  the  father  came  to  meet  the  prodigal  in  the  Gos- 
pel. How  he  has  been  talking  about  you,  and 
counting  the  days  till  you  come  home,  for  he  ex- 
pected you  full  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  before 
this. 

Henry,  0,  what  shall  I  do!  how  shall  I  meet  him! 
how  he  lifts  up  his  hands!  and  how  he  seems  to  be 
affected!  Lift  me  off,  Thomas — I  am  so  lame.  What 
a  meeting  this  will  be!  The  Lord  support  me! 

Under  such  circumstances  the  newly  converted 
prodigal  and  parent  met.  The  conversation  was  too 
interrupted  to  be  related.  At  the  door  of  the  house 
Henry  was  embraced  by  his  mother.  Had  he  not 
been  prevented,  he  would  have  been  directly  upon 
his  knees  to  have  begged  her  pardon  for  having  given 
much  severer  pains  to  her  heart  by  his  conduct,  than 
ever  she  felt  for  him  as  his  mother,  when  she  brought 
him  into  the  world.  Miss  Polly  all  the  time  com- 
pletely kept  up  the  character  of  the  elder  son  in  the 
parable;  she  would  neither  baste  the  veal,  nor  melt 
the  butter,  nor  draw  the  beer,  nor  even  peel  a  potato; 
but  showed  such  tempers  as  exemplified  a  complete 
contrast  between  the  spirit  of  envy,  and  the  spirit 
which  is  of  God. 

We  suppose  the  course  of  the  dialogue  to  be  dis- 
conlinued  for  an  hour,  and  by  that  time  Sam  comes 


128  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

up  in  haste  from  the  vicarage,  having  been  sent  as  a 
purpose-messenger  to  Brookfield,  to  announce  the 
arrival  of  Henry  to  Mr.  Lovegood.  Mr.  Lovegood 
soon  follows,  and  is  introduced. 

Far.  Harry,  my  child,  this  is  our  dear  minister 
who  brought  your  poor  father — [he  weeps  and  adds] 
to  know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Loveg.  to  Littleworth,  My  good  friend,  though 
I  rejoice  with  you  on  this  happy  event,  yet  you  had 
need  of  support,  that  you  may  rejoice  with  trembling 
and  with  holy  moderation. —  (to  Henry.)  My  dear 
youth,  we  are  most  heartily  rejoiced  at  this  event, 
and  at  the  good  evidence  you  have  given  that  a  di- 
vine change  has  been  wrought  on  your  heart. 

Henry.  I  hope  and  trust  it  has;  for  you  must 
know,  sir,  what  a  wretch  I  was  before  I  went  to  sea. 

Loveg.  No  matter  what  has  been ;  the  Lord,  I  trust, 
has  cast  all  those  sins  behind  his  back.  Consider,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  what  is  to  be;  for  in  the  gospel  the 
grace  of  Christ  is  provided  for  us  in  time,  and  the 
glory  of  Christ  in  eternity. 

Henry.  Oh,  sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the 
face,  when,  with  the  deepest  contrition,  I  consider  in 
my  wicked  wild  days  what  cruel  words  I  have  ut- 
tered against  you,  and  what  abominable  stories  I  was 
glad  to  hear,  and  even  invent,  to  expose  your  inno- 
cent character.  I  would  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand 
times. 

Loveg.  Oh  no,  sir,  we  must  have  no  begging  of 
pardons.  If  God  has  pardoned  us,  we  can  easily 
forgive  each  other:  but  there  is  nothing  new  in  all 
this;  for  Paul,  before  his  conversion,  was  "  injurious 
and  opprobrious :"  we  therefore,  who  have  been  cru- 
cified with  Christ,  and  who  have  been  made  partakers 
of  the  power  of  his  spiritual  resurrection,  are  to 
suppose,  that  all  our  former  evils  are  left  behind  in 


DIALOGUE  VIII,  129 

the  grave  from  which  he  arose;  they  are  to  be  buried 
and  forgotten,  as  though  they  had  never  been. 

Henry.  Oh,  sir,  how  glad  shall  I  be  to  hear  you 
preach  concerning  these  great  things,  and  about  this 
blessed  Christ,  at  Brookheld  Church!  and  William 
Traffick  tells  me  it  is  Sacrament  Sunday;  and  will 
you  let  me  be  there,  dear  sir? — [To  his  father]  and 
will  you,  my  dear  father,  forgive  me,  and  let  me  kneel 
down  by  you  at  that  blessed  feast  of  love? 

Far.  0,  my  dear  child!  don't  talk  so;  don't  talk 
so;  it  quite  breaks  my  heart;  all  is  forgotten  and 
forgiven  already. 

Mr.  Lovegood,  finding  that  the  sluices  of  affection 
were  opened  afresh,  and  remembering  that  it  was 
the  father's  design  to  establish  family  prayer  on  the 
return  of  his  son,  and  that  he  was  expected  to  intro- 
duce that  very  profitable  service  into  the  family, 
wisely  called  for  the  Bible  before  supper.  Once  he 
thought  of  reading  and  illustrating  the  15th  of  Luke, 
on  the  Prodigal's  Return,  but  discreetly  forbore, 
knowing  that  the  feelings  of  the  family,  upon  a  very 
similar  event,  were  already  excited  to  the  utmost. — 
He  chose  therefore  the  51st  Psalm,  as  being  very 
congenial  to  that  broken  and  contrite  spirit,  which 
was  now  exemplified  among  them. 

After  prayer  the  supper  was  soon  introduced,  hos- 
pitable and  plain.  Two  fowls,  and  a  large  fat  ham, 
with  plenty  of  vegetables,  puddings  and  pies,  were 
added  to  the  piece  of  the  fatted  calf  already  brought 
from  Mapleton.  For  the  Farmer  having  invitecl 
many  of  his  neighbours  to  this  first  family  prayer, 
on  such  an  occasion,  chose  tiiat  the  provision  should 
be  plentiful  for  those  in  the  kitchen,  as  well  a^ 
others  in  the  parlour;  for  now  "  they  began  to  be 
merry."  One  affecting  circumstance,  however,  hap- 
pened during  the  festivity  in  the  parlour.  The  Far- 
12* 


130  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

mer,  seeing  his  son's  plate  nearly  emptied,  loaded  it 
a  second  time  with  what  would  have  satisfied  a  mo- 
derate man  for  three  meals  at  least,  and  then  plenti- 
fully drenched  it  with  melted  butter.  This  act  of 
hospitable  affection  from  the  father,  again  touched 
the  feelings  of  the  son;  he  looked  down  on  his  plate, 
thus  heaped  with  a  Benjamin's  mess,  and  again  he 
wept.  Mr.  Lovegood  called  him  aside,  advising  him 
for  awhile  to  withdraw  from  the  company;  and  they 
walked  and  conversed  together  for  some  minutes  in 
a  large  old  hall,  while  Mr.  Lovegood  thus  attempted 
the  word  of  consolation. 

LfOveg.  My  dear  youth,  it  grieves  us  all  to  see  you 
so  cast  down  on  ah  occasion  which  calls  for  so  much 
thankfulness  and  joy. 

Henry.  Oh,  sir!  what  an  ungrateful  and  rebellious 
wretch  have  I  been  against  my  parents,  against  my 
God  all  the  days  of  my  life! 

Loveg.  Whatever  you  may  have  been,  yet  of  this 
you  may  most  assuredly  be  persuaded,  that  now  all 
your  past  offences  your  father  has  entirely  forgiven; 
and  has  again  and  again  desired  me  to  assure  you, 
that  he  means  to  look  upon  you  as  if  nothing  had  ever 
happened  to  offend  him. 

Henry.  [Weeping  still  more  abundantly.]  0,  sir, 
that's  the  very  thing  which  cuts  me  to  the  heart; — 
not  that  1  suspect  my  father  to  be  unforgiving;  but 
that  I  should  have  been  such  an  ungrateful  wretch  to 
grieve  such  a  kind,  tender-hearted  parent. 

[After  a  little  while  Henry's  spirits  were  recruited, 
and  he  and  Mr.  Lovegood  returned  to  the  parlour. 
While  they  continued  at  the. feast,  the  conversation 
thus  continued.] 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Henry,  you  can  now  tell  us  a 
little  more  than  what  we  find  in  your  letter  of  God's 
gracious  dealings  with  your  soul. 


DIALOGUE  VIII.  131 

Henry.  Why,  sir,  if  all  the  world  had  told  me  that 
I  should  have  experienced  such  a  blessed  change,  I 
could  not  have  believed  them. 

Loveg.  Were  you  filled  with  much  despondency 
when  you  first  saw  the  evil  tendency  of  sin? 

Henry.  Why,  sir,  I  was  not  so  much  distressed 
from  an  apprehension  that  there  was  a  hell  for  sin: 
what  I  dreaded  was  a  hell  in  sin. 

Loveg.  Had  you  no  concern  about  your  soul  till 
after  you  were  wounded? 

Henry.  Not  the  least. — I  am  astonished  at  my 
wickedness  till  I  was  brought,  as  I  supposed,  close  to 
the  gates  of  death.  Then  I  was  ever  framing  to  my 
mind,  that  an  angry  God  was  looking  at  me,  and  that 
he  hated  me:  then  sin  began  to  flash  upon  my  con- 
science, and  many  evils,  which  I  had  forgotten,  were 
brought  to  my  mind,  as  if  I  had  committed  them  but 
the  day  before.  Nothing  made  me  fear  hell  but  sin, 
and  now  I  saw  sin  worse  than  hell  itself. 

Loveg.  And  how  did  you  get  relief? 

Henry.  While  I  continued  groaning  in  m}^  ham- 
mock, some  poor,  despised,  praying  seamen  ventured 
to  come  near  me,  when  all  the  ship's  crew  expected 
lo  hear  of  my  death  every  hour;  and  when  1  began 
to  tell  them  of  m}'  evil  heart,  and  evil  plight,  they 
seemed  quite  to  rejoice  at  it.  This  appeared  strange 
to  me  at  the  first,  but  they  soon  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  there  was  no  coming  to  Christ  but  with  a 
wounded  conscience.  And  then  I  was  directed  to 
seek  to  him  for  mercy,  while  his  salvation  was  my 
only  hope. 

Loveg.  Indeed,  and  so  it  is;  for  nothing  but  re- 
demption will  do  for  a  ruined  sinner.  When  we 
come  to  know  our  own  hearts,  we  are  soon  delivered 
from  trusting  in  ourselves,  and  on  our  own  fancied 
righteousness. 

Henry.   Ah,  sir,  as  soon  as  ever  I  felt  that  I  was  a 


132  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

ruined  sinner,  I  was  fully  convinced  that  Christ  atone 
must  be  exalted  in  my  salvation.  I  had  no  other  hope 
left,  but  in  him. 

Loveg.  What,  had  you  no  serious  apprehensions 
during  the  time  of  the  engagement,  while  your  eter- 
nal state  seemed  to  depend  upon  the  fate  of  every 
moment.'* 

Henry.  Not  the  least.  And  when  a  poor  profane 
wretch  died  but  a  little  before,  of  a  mortification 
through  a  broken  leg,  by  his  falling  down  the  hatch- 
way, 1  could  even  hear  him  all  the  time  curse  and 
swear,  because,  as  he  thought,  he  was  not  properly 
attended  to,  while  he  lay  in  his  hammock;  and  when 
he  was  told  that  his  leg  was  in  a  state  of  mortifica^ 
tion,  he  sunk  into  despair,  and,  even  to  his  last  mo- 
ments, used  the  most  horrid  imprecations  against  his 
own  parents  for  sending  him  to  sea,  and  for  intro- 
ducing him  into  all  sorts  of  sin. 

Fa7\  0,  my  dear  child,  what  a  mercy  that  my  bad 
example  was  not  the  cause  of  your  eternal  ruination! 

Henry.  But,  blessed  be  God,  father,  that  is  not  the 
case;  in  a  way  of  wonderful  mercy  the  Lord  has 
met  with  us  both.  Come,  let  us  be  thankful,  and 
bless  the  Lord  together  for  his  love. 

Far.  With  all  my  heart,  my  dear  child.  [He  takes 
him  by  tiie  hand,  and  falls  upon  his  neck,  and  kisses 
him  most  affectionately.  Mr.  Lovegood  again  inter- 
rupts him,  and  adds,] 

Loveg.  But,  Mr.  Littleworth,  your  son  is  to  tell 
us  the  rest  of  his  story. 

Henry.  Why,  as  soon  as  I  began  to  be  better,  I 
joined  those  praying  people,  and  at  once  partook 
with  them  their  lot  of  ridicule  and  contempt.  We 
were  all  despised  as  the  meanest  fellows  in  the  ship, 
though  in  the  time  of  the  engagement  they  had 
proved  themselves  the  boldest  men  among  us  all. 

Loveg.  No  wonder  at  that:  living  Christians  need 


DIALOGUE  VIII.  133 

not  be  afraid  to  die,  because  they  who  live  and  believe 
in  Christ  can  never  die.  But  when  you  came  to  An- 
tigua, how  was  it  with  you  there? 

Henry.  Sir,  the  providence  of  God  most  favourably 
and  graciously  attended  me;  for  as  soon  as  I  arrived, 
I  and  my  comrades  in  prayer  sought  after  any  who 
were  inclined  to  seek  after  God;  and  by  a  remark- 
able providence,  the  town  being  very  full,  I  found 
myself  quartered  at  the  hut  of  a  poor  slave,  who 
knew  the  grace  of  God  in  truth.  I  could  not  but 
from  the  first  admire  his  mild  submission  and  atten- 
tion; but  before  we  went  to  sleep,  how  was  I  struck 
to  hear  the  poor  creature  say,  "My  dear  Massy, 
me  hope  you  no  be  angry  if  me  and  my  poor  wifey 
and  pickaninnies  pray  to  our  dear  Saviour  before  we 
go  to  bed;'^  and  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  been 
lately  taught  to  pray  myself,  and  should  be  glad  to 
pray  with  him,  he  asked  me,  "What,  Massy!  you 
love  our  dear  Saviour  too?"  and  when  I  told  him  I 
hoped  I  did,  for  that  he  had  pardoned  my  sins,  and 
changed  my  heart,  then  he  ran  directly  and  em- 
braced me,  and  said,  "  0  my  dear  Broder,  den  I  love 
you  to  de  heart,  because  you  love  our  dear  Saviour;" 
and  after  this,  as  you  may  suppose,  we  soon  got  ac- 
quainted with  each  other. 

Loveg.  I  suppose,  when  you  got  acquainted  with 
this  poor  good  creature,  he  soon  introduced  you  to 
the  rest  of  his  brethren. 

Henry.  Yes;  and  I  went  directly,  and  told  my 
praying  shipmates  what  a  treasure  1  had  found  in  this 
poor  slave;  and  the  night  after  we  all  met  for  prayer 
in  his  hut;  and  when  we  asked  him  how  he  came  to 
know  about  these  good  things,  he  told  us  the  most 
affecting  story  I  ever  heard,  of  his  sufferings  before 
he  came  from  Africa,  and  how  mercifully  he  was 
brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  by  the  zeal 
and  attention  of  the  Moravian  missionaries,  some 


134  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

years  after  he  had  lost  his  liberty,  and  been  sold  as 
a  slave. 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Henry,  as  we  shall  now,  I  trust, 
have  frequent  interviews  with  each  other,  I  should 
be  glad  if  on  a  future  occasion  you  could  recollect 
some  of  the  most  material  circumstances  of  his  story, 
and  the  narration  of  them  may  be  profitable  to  us  all; 
but  I  dare  say,  soon  after  that  you  got  acquainted 
with  their  ministers. 

Henry.  Why,  directly  when  poor  Sancho,  for  that 
was  his  name,  could  find  time,  he  went  and  told  their 
minister  that  there  were  some  huckra  sailors  that 
loved  the  Saviour,  and  the  venerable  gray-headed 
man  soon  came  to  see  US',  and  as  I  was  then  but  lately 
awakened  to  a  sense  and  sight  of  my  sins,  the  remem- 
brance of  them  lay  very  heavy  on  my  conscience; 
and  I  bless  God  for  the  consolations  I  soon,  began  to 
receive  from  the  affectionate  and  tender  way  in  which 
he  recommended  me  to  the  Son  of  God  for  salvation. 
On  the  Sunday  following  all  of  us  went  to  their 
Chapel:  it  was  a  most  affecting  sight  to  behold  so 
large  a  number  of  poor  blacks,  notwithstanding  their 
slavery,  rejoicing  in  the  liberty  of  the  Gospel. 

Loveg.  Blessed  be  God,  the  calamities  of  a  Chris- 
tian shall  always  be  counter-balanced  by  his  consola- 
tions: it  is  the  privilege  of  the  believer,  notwith- 
standing all  his  troubles,  to  rejoice  with  joy  unspeak- 
able and  full  of  glory. 

Henry.  And  so  it  should  seem,  sir,  for  during  the 
week  Sancho  took  us  to  see  a  poor  woman  singing 
and  rejoicing  in  dying  circumstances,  in  a  manner 
remarkably  glorious;  crying  out,  "  My  dear  Saviour 
is  just  coming  for  me — he  has  loved  me — he  has 
given  himself  for  me!  0  how  he  warms  my  heart, 
and  blesses  me — death  is  now  noting  to  me:  how  I 
long  to  be  dissolved,  that  I  maybe  with  my  precious 
Jesus!  and  how  I  love  all  of  you,  my  dear  broders,^ 


DIALOGUE  VIII.  135 

because  you  love  him.  In  heaven,  we  shall  none  of 
us  be  cruel  against  each  other,  but  we  shall  all  be 
like  our  loving  Saviour,  and  see  him  as  he  is,  in  all 
his  glory."  Thus  she  went  on,  praising  and  bless- 
ing God,  and  triumphing  in  the  forgiving  love  of 
Ghrist. 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Henry,  we  shall  have  other  op- 
portunities to  talk  over  these  matters;  but  we  should 
not  conclude  this  J03^ful  interview  without  some 
praises  to  God  for  his  great  goodness  in  returning 
you  again  to  your  father's  house,  and  bringing  you 
to  the  knowledge  of  yourself. 

Henry.  0,  sir!  what  an  ungrateful  wretch  should 
I  be,  to  forget  my  God  after  such  mercies! 

Littlew.  My  child,  you  cannot  think  what  a  nice 
hymn  Mr.  Lovegood  has  made  on  your  conversion 
and  return.  JNancy,  call  in  Thomas  Newman,  that 
he  may  pitch  the  tune. 

[Thomas  comes  in,  and  the  hymn  is  sung;  but 
poor  Henry's  harp  was  on  the  willows;  the  case  ex- 
pressed in  the  hymn  was  so  much  his  own,  that 
every  line  brought  a  fresh  tear  trickling  from  his 
eye.] 

THE  penitent's  SONG  OF  PRAISE. 

Did  ever  one  of  Adam's  race, 

Cost  thee,  dear  Lord,  such  toil  and  grace. 

Ere  this  rebellious  heart  of  mine 

Was  taught  to  yield  to  love  divine? 

Vile  was  my  heart,  deep  plung'd  in  sin, 
A  dismal  den  of  thieves  within; 
Where  ev'ry  lust  presum'd  to  dwell, 
The  hateful  progeny  of  hell. 

A  deep  apostate  from  my  God, 
I  trampled  on  the  Saviour's  blood: 
I  scorn'd  his  mercy,  mock'd  his  pain 
And  crucified  mv  Lord  again. 


136  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

How  great  the  pow'r,  how  vast  the  sway, 
That  first  constrain'd  me  to  obey! 
How  large  the  grace  thou  didst  impart, 
That  conquer'd  sin,  and  won  my  heart! 

But,  lo!  the  chief  of  sinners  now 
Is  brought  before  thy  throne  to  bow: 
Surely  this  mighty  pow'r  from  thee, 
Can  conquer  all  which  conquers  me. 

Hail,  dearest  Lord,  my  choicest  love! 
By  pity  drawn  from  realms  above! 
Eternal  praise  to  Love  Divine, 
That  won  a  heart  so  vile  as  mine! 

The  hymn  being  ended,  Mr.  Lovegood  offered 
up  another  short  prayer,  and  the  whole  family  re- 
tired. 


DIALOGUE  IX. 


HEV.  Mk.  LOVEGOOD   AND   MR.  \\T>RTHY'S 
FAMILY  AT  FARMER  LITTLE  WORTH'S. 


THE  EVILS  Of  the  SLAVE  TRADE  DELINEATED. 

About  three  weeks  after  Henry's  return,  Mr. 
Worthy,  mindful  of  Farmer  Littleworth's  invitation, 
attended,  with  Mrs.  Worthy  and  their  eldest  daugh- 
ter, to  drink  tea  at  Gracehill  Farm.  It  has  already 
been  noticed,  that  ^11  correspondence  between  Mr. 
Worthy  and  the  family  of  the  Blusters  of  Revel  Hall 
was  completely  closed.  Nor  could  he  keep  up  any 
farther  intimacy  with  Lord  Rakish's  family,  thaii  to 
give  them  a  morning  visit  after  their  return  from 
town,  or  some  other  places  of  dissipation.  A  man  of 
his  superior  mind,  could  discover,  thM,  while  tbe 
scriptures  directed  him  to  be  courteous, ^yeU  knowing 
that  "evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners,^' 
he  was  also  instructed  to  be  cautious.  His  maxim 
was  "to  be  civil  to  the  great,  but  intimate  with  the 
good."  He  therefore  never  supposed  he  disgraced 
himself  by  a  familiar  intercourse  with  persons  of  in- 
ferior rank,  while  they  sustained  the  character  of  real 
goodness  of  disposition  and  conduct.  Mt.  Love- 
good,  as  we  naturally  slippose,  was  inVited  to  be  one 
of  the  party.  Mrs.  Lovegood,  ever  attentive  to  her 
domestic  concerns,  and  burdened  with  the  large  care 
of  a  little  family,  though  the  sincere  wish  of  all  par- 
ties, Could  seldom  attend  on  these  occasions. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy  and  Mr.  Lovegood  made  it 
VOL.  I — 13 


138  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

a  point  to  come  early,  as  they  wished  for  some  con- 
■Versation  with  the  newly  converted  prodigal,  as  also 
to  ficain  some  information  respecting  the  poor  negroes 
in  Antigua.  After  the  accustomed  salutations,  they 
were  ushered  b}^  the  farmer  and  his  wife  into  the 
best  parlour,  where  Miss  Nancy  had  been  preparing 
all  things  for  their  reception;  and  thus  the  conversa- 
tion began. 

Farmer.  Ah,  dear!  had  any  one  told  me,  three 
years  ago,  that  I  should  have  had  such  an  honour  as 
to  have  our  worthy  'squire  and  his  lady  at  our  house, 
I  could  never  have  believed  them,  when  I  used  to 
laugh  at  your  honour's  religion:  but,  the  Lord  knows, 
it  was  when  I  had  none  of  my  own. 

Mr,  Worthy.  Well,  but  you  know,  my  good  friend, 
we  were  all  nearly  alike, till  we  were  better  instructed. 
But  where  is  your  son  Henry?  for  we  are  come  to 
hear  something  of  the  gracious  providences  which 
have  brought  about  this  wonderful  change  upon  his 
mind;  and  which  have  attended  him  ever  since  he 
left  these  parts  in  his  thoughtless  days. 

Far.  He  is  only  gone  out  with  Thomas  and  Sam 
to  see  your  honour's  horses  put  properly  into  the 
stable:  but,  for  sure,  it  is  to  admiration  what  a 
blessed  boy  he  is,  and  how  loving  and  good  the  Lord 
has  made  him;  it  quite  overcom.es  me  when  I  think 
of  it!  we  seem  to  enjoy  a  little  heaven  upon  earth. 

Lovegood.  They  who  are  born  again  are  born  to 
enjoy  two  heavens  instead  of  one:  a  heaven  of  grace 
here,  and  a  heaven  of  glory  hereafter.  But,  through 
the  mercy  of  God,  what  a  wonderful  alteration  has 
taken  place  in  your  family,  when  compared  to  what 
it  was  three  years  ago,  when  you  were  all  living 
without  God  in  the  world ! 

Far.  Ay,  so  I  thought  last  Tuesday  evening, 
when  my  son  and  Billy  Traffick,  and  three  or  four 
other  young  men  that   frequent  our  church,  came 


DIALOGUE  IX.  139 

and  spent  the  evening  at  our  house;  and  Billy  Traf- 
fick  brought  with  him  ihe  Pilgrim's  Progress.  What 
a  precious  book  for  sure  that  is!  and  they  say  the 
man  that  wrote  it  was  nothing  but  a  poor  tinker: 
ay,  and  a  very  wicked  sinner,  as  wicked  as  ever  I 
was,  before  the  Lord  converted  him. 

Loveg.  Yes,  and  what  a  proof  is  this  what  the 
grace  of  God  can  do  on  the  vilest  of  sinners;  as  also 
what  wisdom  God  can  communicate  to  his  children, 
independent  of  human  learning,  however  good  that 
may  be  in  its  place:  but  that  book  is  not  less  enter- 
taining than  instructive.  Happy  are  they  who  find 
they  are  travelling  with  the  pilgrim  towards  the 
celestial  city! 

Far.  Well,  I  do  ti'ust  that  some  of  us  have  got 
into  that  blessed  road;  though  to  my  mind  I  hobble 
as  bad  spiritually  as  I  do  naturally.  But  how  Harry 
was  afiected  when  he  read  about  Christian's  burden 
falling  oiF  his  back  when  he  came  within  sight  of 
the  cross!  Bear  child!  what  a  tender  heart  he  has! 
what  would  I  give  if  my  heart  was  but  as  tender  as 
his!  and  for  sure  what  two  sweet  prayers  we  had 
from  Billy  Traffick,  and  my  son,  before  they  went 
away ! 

[Henry's  appearance  in  the  parlour  prevented  any 
farther  conversation  on  that  subject.  After  some 
salutations  the  dialogue  recommenced.] 

Wor.  Wellj  Mr.  Henry,  we  are  come  somewhat 
sooner  than  expected  to  commemorate  the  goodness 
of  God  in  your  conversion  and  return.  We  shall 
be  very  glad  soon  to  despatch  the  ceremonies  of  the 
tea-table,  that  we  may  have  time  to  hear  of  some 
farther  events  than  what  we  were  acquainted  with, 
before  your  arrival.— (^ To  the  Farmer. J  But,  Mr. 
Littleworth,  where  are  your  other  two  daughters. 
Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Patty? 

JPar.  ^Xvas,  sir,  I   am  afraid  they  think  they  arp 


140  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

not  yet  dressed  fine  enough  to  receive  your  ho^. 
nour.  Ah  dear!  how  glad  1  should  be  if  they  spent 
but  half  the  time  in  meditation  and  prayer  they  now 
spend  at  their  twilight?  there  is  no.  conceivance  what 
pride  there  is  in  all  our  wicked  hearts!. — [Mrs. 
Worthy  and  family  smile;  the  Farmer  continues'] — 
Why  I  thought  I  should  make  some  blunders  in 
my  countrified  fashion  of  talk;,  but  my  daughters 
have  put  a  sort  of  petticoat  thing  round  their  table, 
and  I  thought;  they  called  it  a  twilight;  bu,t  my  fa- 
ther loved  his  money  too  well  to  give  us  uwiohlarning. 

tMrs.  Wor.  Never  mind,  my  good  friend,  the 
mistake  of  calling^  a  toilet  a,  IwUight:  we  all  under- 
stand you. 

[Just  then  Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Patty  came  down 
from  their  tioilight,  and  such  curious  tawdry  figures 
as  might  be  expected.  Miss  Polly  being  the  eldest, 
did  tlie  honours  of  the  tea  table,  when  she  had  enough 
to  do  to  instruct  Sam,  primed  up  in  his  livery,  how 
to  conduct  himself  in  his  office  as  footman,  the  con- 
versation having  been  interrupted  by  their  appear- 
ance, was  thus  resumed. J 

Z,oveg<,  Mr.  Henry,  we  have  already  been  ac- 
quainted witli  many  of  the  circumstainces  which  first 
brought  about  the  blessed  change  that  has  taken 
place  upon  your  mind,  though  we  have  heard  but 
little  from  you  of  what  passed  when  you  was  in  An- 
tigua, after  you  became  acquainted  with  the  Mora- 
vians. Besides,  Mr.  Worthy  is  a  subscriber  to  their 
mission,  as  also  to  other  missionary  societies,  latelj^ 
established  In  oxir  own  country:  he  would  therefore  be 
glad  of  a  farther  narration  of  what  has  come  to  your 
knowledge  respecting  these  good  people,  and  of  their 
efforts  to  evangelize  the  poor  slaves. 

Wor.  Though  I  have  n,o  doubt  of  the  authenticity 
of  the  reports  we  have  received  from  every  quarter 
respecting  the  cruelties  exercised  oyer  these  misera-?. 


DIALOGUE  IX.  141 

ble  creatures,  yet  I  should  be  glad  of  your  informa- 
tion concerning  th©  general  state  of  tbe  poor  African 
slaves,  so  far  as  it  has  come  within  your  personal 
knowledge! 

Hen.  0,  sir!  the  barbarous  usage  they  receive 
from  us  is  inexpressible.  I  have  seen  heaps  of  them 
myself  bought  and  sold  like  a  set  of  beasts  in  a  com- 
mon market.  I  believe  many  more,  on  an  average, 
than  eighty  thousand  of  these  poor  creatures  are  an- 
nually transported  out  of  their  own  country,  to  be 
made  the  objects  of  this  abominable  traffic:  and  it  is 
amazing  what  a  number  of  these,  amounting  to  nearly 
one-third,  according  to  a  most  brutal  expression,  die 
in  seasoning;  and  can  it  be  wondered  at,  when  they 
are  taken  from  a  life  of  comparative  ease  and  indo- 
lence, to  a  life  of  the  most  cruel  labour,  and  are  kept 
in  perpetual  terror  under  the  lash  of  their  drivers 
all  the  time,  with  their  hearts  ready  to  break,  having 
been  lately  torn  from  their  dearest  friends  and  con- 
nexions, and  with  no  other  expectation  than  to  drag 
on  a  most  miserable  existence  till,  by  the  hand  of 
death  itself,  which  many  of  them  most  anxiously  de- 
sire, they  escape  the  clutches  of  their  tormentors. 

Tf^or.  Did  you  say  more  than  eiglity  thousand, 
Mr.  Henry?  Are  you  correct  in  your  information? 
I  thought  it  was  about  half  that  number. 

Hen.  Sir,  upwards  of  half  that  number  are  cruelly 
exported  from  their  own  country  for  the  use  of  the 
British  islands  alone.  I  myself  saw,  in  the  Kingston 
Gazette,  three  thousand  of  them  advertised  for  sale 
at  one  time:  the  importation  for  one  year  only,  into 
difierent  islands,  amounted  to  thirty-five  thousand; 
and  as  the  islands  belonging  to  other  nations  must 
want  at  least  as  many  as  ourselves,  I  believe  I  should 
have  been  nearer  the  mark  if  I  had  said  one  hundred 
thousand  than  eighty  thousand. 

Wor.  VVhat  horrid  robbery  on  the  persons  of  our 
13" 


142  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

fellow-creatures,  and  what  dreadful  murder  of  human 
lives!  for  the  conclusion  certainly  is, that  not  less  than 
all  that  number  are  wanted  to  keep  iiv  the  stock,  to 
succeed  those^  who,  lose  their  lives  by  their  cruel  ba- 
nisiiment,  or  who  have  been  killed'  off  by  barbarous 
treatment  and  hard  labour.  For  it  seems  the  calcu- 
lation has  been  reduced  to  a  nicety,  how  far  it  may  be 
most  profitable  to  work  them  down,  as  you.  would  a  set 
of  beasts?  and  buy  fresh  ones,,  ox  let  them  breed  among 
themselves.  And  it  is  well  known,  that,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  effects  of  o.ppression  and  war,  the  human  race, 
in  every  part  of  the  globe,  would  rapidly  in,cf  ease. 

Hen.  Yes,  sir;  and  in  ail  the  plantatio-ns  where  these 
poor  creatures  are  treated  with  any  degree  of  mercy, 
they  never  find  themselves,  under  the  necessity  of 
resorting  to,  those  horrid  markets. 

Wor.  It  should  alsO;  seem  ^he  infamous  tricks 
practised  to  procure  them,  are  the  most  treacherous 
and  cruel:  none  of  us  can  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  on 
what  frivolous  pretences  we  excite  them  to  war  among 
themselves^  tliat  we  may  gain  the  advantage  of  pur- 
chasing the  unhappy  oaptives,  made  by  the  imnatural 
contests  excited  among  this  poor  ill-instructed  race 
of  our  fellow  creatures,  who  otherwise  have  a  dispo- 
sition to  liv^  in  mutual  peace  a,nd  harmony  with 
each  othei?.  How  much  more  would  it  become  us 
to  civilize  and  evangelize  them,  than  to  do  all  in  our 
power  to  add  to  their  natural  brutality,  that  we  may 
afterwards  enslave  them.  I^um,  guns,  and  gunpow- 
der, it  seems,  are  the  general  brilies.  given  to  these 
artless  heathens  from  the  artful  Christians,  (so  called 
in  this  country.)  for  the  purposes  of  exciting  in- 
toxication and  bloodshed  among  them,  that,  at  their 
expense,  we  may  gratify  our  abominable  ambition 
and  pride. 

Hen.  O  yes,  sir!  what  you  say  is  all  very  true. 
I  myself  was  conversing  with  one  who  had  been 


DIALOGUE  IX.  143 

engaged  in  this  detestable  trade  not  long  ago;  and 
to  convince  me  how  many  lives  are  wantonly  lost 
before  a  few  slaves  can  be  procured  for  the  West 
India  Islands,  he  told  me  several  stories,  one  of  which 
I  well  remember:^ — ^'The  commander  of  an  African 
ship  sent  to  acquaint  on-e  of  their  kings  that  he  wanted 
a  cargo  of  slaves:  the  king,  for  the  sake  of  gain,  pro- 
mised to  furnish  him:  and  in  order  to  do,  it,  set  out, 
designing  to.  surprise  some  towns  and  make  all  the 
people  prisoners.  Some  time  afterwards  the  king 
sent  him  word  he  had  not  succeeded,  having  at- 
tempted to  break  up  two  towns,  but  was  twice  re- 
pulsed ;  but  that  l^e  stiU  hoped  for  success.  He  uext 
met  his  enemies  in  the  open  j&eld.  A  battle  was 
fought  which  lasted  three  days,  and  the  engagemeat 
was  so  bloody  that  four  thousand  five  hundired  men 
were  sJain  on  tfee  spot!'^ 

Wor..  One  shudders  at  the  very  relation  of  these 
execrable  cruelties.  But  it  seems  we  have  other 
pretexts  to.  cover  this  horrid  trade:  we  buy  them  as 
slaves  sold  for  theft  and  for  adultery;  and  even  their 
superstition  and  ignorance  are  to  serve  for  our  profit, 
while,  for  the  supposed  crime  of  witchcraft,  many 
innocent  sufferers  are  doomed  to  slavery,  through 
life.  Thus  we  not  only  fill  our  colonies  with  the 
very  refuse  of  the  barbarous  Africans,  as  we  call  them, 
(though  worse  barbarians  ourselves;)  but  disgrace  our 
national  character  hy  becoming  the  executioners  of 
this  most  abject  race  5  and  even  traverse  the  sea\S  for 
that  purpose,  as  though  we  had  not  enough  of  the 
same  crimes  to  punish  at  home. 

Hen.  Yes,  sir,  and  how  unjust  the  punishment  of 
perpetual  slavery,  and  that  oftentimes  for  crimes  that 
scarcely  deserve  the-  name;  but  till  we  tempted  them 
with  the  lure  of  gain  there  were  no  punishments  by 
perpetual  slavery.  It  seems,  notwithstanding  we 
choose  to  cry  th.em  down  as  barbarians,  that  their 


144  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

punishments  were  i4i  some  measure  proportionate  to 
tiieir  offences:  but  is  it  possible  to  suppose  that  near 
a  hundred  thousand  men,  year  by  year,  can  deserve 
such  a  punishment? 

Wor.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  whether  they  are  pu- 
nished with  justice  or  otherwise;  for  there  is  no 
doubt  they  take  all  that  are  brought,  "asking  no 
questions  for  conscience'  sake." 

Hen.  Sir,  there  are  instances  in  which  they  go  still 
farther.  They  not  only  take  the  slaves,  but  even  by 
treachery  have  seized  the  very  people  that  have  sold 
them.  In  short,  the  whole  of  this  most  horrid  traffic 
is  made  up  of  every  crime  that  treachery,  cruelty, 
and  murder  can  invent:  and  if  any  of  the  European 
nations  were  to  act  against  each  other,  as  we  do 
against  these  poor  creatures,  for  no  other  cause  than 
because  they  are  defenceless  and  ill-instructed,  they 
would  be  set  down  as  so  many  monsters  instead  of 
men.  I  think  we  may  safely  conclude,  that,  if  we 
Europeans  transport  full  eighty  thousand  of  these 
men,  we  are  the  cause  of  murdering  as  many  more 
before  we  can  procure  them.  And  when  we  come 
to  calculate  on  the  additions  made,  year  by  year,  to 
these  miserable  beings,  it  has  been  proved  that  not 
less  than  half  a  million  of  our  reasonable  creatures  in 
the  English  islands  only,  and  consequently  little  less 
than  A  WHOLE  million,  including  those  belonging 
to  other  nations,  are  at  this  moment  in  a  state  of  the 
most  abject  slavery,  torn  from  their  native  lands  and 
dearest  connexions;  if  all, therefore,  were  to  be  hanged 
for  committing  the  same  crimes  abroad  for  which 
they  would  be  sentenced  to  death  at  home,  I  ques- 
tion, if  there  would  be  any  left  to  carry  on  tliis  most 
infernal  trade, 

Loveg.  When  one  hears  of  such  wanton  and  abo^ 
minable  cruelties,  what  reason  have  we  to  fear  that 
solemji  denunciation  of  divine  vengeance;   ^' Shall 


DIALOGUE   IX.  145 

itot  my  soul  be  avenged  on  such  a  nation  as  this?^^ 
hut  our  harharities  in  war  are  hy  no  means  all  we 
have  to  answer  for.  Multitudes  are  confessedly 
stolen  away  by  mere  craft  from  their  own  country; 
and  men-stealers  are  the  very  worst  of  thieves.* 
What  a  universal  uproar  it  makes  in  this  land  if  but 
one  poor  child  be  kidnapped  from  his  parents!  but  in 
those  unhappy  climates  we  may  kidnap  all  we  can 
catch,  with  the  greatest  impunit3% 

Hen.  0,  sir!  they  are  brought  over  by  these  me- 
thods in  great  abundance.  It  is  amazing  how  many 
poor  children  are  stolen  from  their  parents  as  soon  as 
they  can  run  alone;  and  these  half-reared  children, 
they  always  look  upon  as  their  most  valuable  acqui- 
sitions; but  what  must  their  poor  parents  feel  on 
these  occasions? 

Loveg.  What  can  they  know  of  the  feelings  of 
others,  who  have  lost  all  feelings  themselves?  These 
the  scripture  describes  as  being  "past  feeling;'^  but 
I  am  told  the  Africans  are  remarkably  fond  of  their 
children. 

Hen.  Sir,  their  fondness  and  tenderness  towards 
their  children,  is  almost  to  an  extreme;  though,  for 
want  of  better  instruction,  they  frequently  grow  up 
sulky  and  revengeful. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Being  myself  a  mother,  it  is  pleasant 
to  hear  of  their  atteiitipn  to  their  offspring.  I  knew 
a  gentleman  in  this  country,  that,  out  of  mere  com- 
passion, received  into  his  house  an  African  girl,  who 
had  been  kidnapped  when  she  was  very  young:  and 
she  was  remarkably  affectionate  and  attentive  to  the 
children  of  her  charge,  and  they  loved  her  inexpres- 
sibly. Pray,  Mr.  Henry,  what  is  your  opinion  of  the 
general  disposition  of  an  African? 

*  "He  that  stealeth  a  man,  and  selleth  him,  shall  surely 
^e  put  to  death."  Ex.  xxi.  16. 


146  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Hen.  As  far  as  I  could  discover,  when  they  are  ill 
used,  they  become  d^rk,  sulky,  and  resentful  to  a 
high  degree;  but  if  treated  affectionately,  and  with 
friendship,  they  are,  in  return,  the  most  affectionate 
and  kind:  a  proof  of  this  you  have  in  a  variety  of  in- 
stances. Where  a  planter  uses  them  with  lenity  as  a 
family  of  his  fellow-creatures,  though  still  his  slaves, 
they  would  fight  and  die  for  him.  1  heard  of  an  in- 
stance of  a  worthy  gentleman,  who  bought  a  young 
slave  for  his  travelling-servant,  designing  when  he 
came  of  age  to  give  him  his  liberty.  And  when  he 
told  him  he  was  no  longer  his  slave,  and  that  he  was 
at  liberty  to  leave  him  as  soon  as  he  pleased,  he  cried 
out  with  many  tears,  "Me  leave  you,  my  dear  massey, 
me  no  leave  you,  no  never;  me  no  want  better  wages 
dan  to  serve  my  dear  massey;  if  you  turn  me  out  of 
one  door,  me  come  in  at  de  oder;  me  never  leave  my 
dear  massey;  no  never,  never." 

Wor.  What  extreme  cruelty,  to  injure  and  enslave 
a  race  of  our  fellow  creatures,  whose  minds  are  ca- 
pable of  such  noble  and  generous  sensations! 

Hen.  Yes,  and  farther  evidence  we  have  of  this 
in  the  love  they  bear  towards  their  ministers,  who, 
with  remarkable  affection  and  xittention,  preach  to 
them  the  merciful  love  of  God  our  Saviour  towards 
mankind,  and  the  tender  love  we  ought  to  show  to- 
wards each  other  for  the  Saviour's  sake.  In  their 
public  meetings  they  appear  to  me  to  resemble  a 
swarm  of  bees  fixing  around  the  queen  bee  of  the 
hive,  all  hanging  upon  her.  Her  life  is  their  life, 
and  her  death  is  their  death.  They  have  an  un- 
common attachment  to  their  ministers,  and  all  of 
them  seem  to  be  drawn  by  a  sort  of  silken  cord  of 
affection,  which  they  have  neither  power  nor  incli- 
nation to  resist.  They  and  their  ministers  with  them 
give  you  quite  the  idea  of  artless  shepherds  with 
their  harmless  flocks.     To  be  sure  there  is  a  diffe- 


BtALOGUE  IX.  147 

rence  evidently  between  them,  yet  it  is  amazing  the 
good  which  has  been  done  among  them  by  the  intro- 
duction of  the  gospel;  and  many  of  the  planters  see 
so  much  of  the  good  effects  of  it,  that  they  do  all  in 
their  power  to  encourage  and  promote  such  preach- 
ing on  their  plantations,  and  will  give  a  much  greater 
price  for  a  Christian  slave,  than  for  another. 

Loveg.  Well,  Mr.  Henry,  and  just  so  we  should 
all  cleave  around  the  blessed  person  of  the  Chief 
Shepherd,  and  then  we  shall  prove  the  truth  of  the 
proverb,  "They  are  well  kept  whom  the  Lord 
keeps:"  but  some  people  will  say,  in  vindication  of 
this  trade,  that  the  negroes  are  better  off  in  a  state  of 
slavery  in  the  West  Indies  than  in  a  state  of  freedom 
among  themselves;  though  we  have  but  little  proof 
of  it  from  what  has  hitherto  been  noticed. 

Hen.   Under  some  accidental  circumstances,  where 
their  owners  are  merciful  and  humane,  I  confess  their 
situation  may  be  but  little  worse,  if  quite  so  bad,  as 
some  of  the  peasantry  in  our  own  country;  being  al- 
lowed a  decent  plat  of  ground  for  their  own  cultiva- 
tion and  support.     But  they  have  minds  as  well  as 
ourselves;  and  they  must  still  feel  thej^  are  slaves, 
and  that  all  their  happiness  rests  merely  on  the  uncer- 
tain circumstance,  whether  their  master  is  a  man  or 
a  brute.      In   many  instances,  to  my  certain  know- 
ledge, their  situation  is  rendered  far  more  miserable 
than  if  they  were  brutes  themselves.     Their  food  is 
so  coarse  and  bad,  that  nothing  but  necessity  could 
compel  them  to  eat  it;  while  their  labour  and  their 
punishments  are  severe  and  cruel.     They  have  an 
expression  among  themselves,  that  they  are  fed  with 
"a  fish  with  one  eye:"  that  is,  a  herring  split  asun- 
der to  serve  two  of  them,  with  the  little  they  can 
raise  among  themselves.     As  to  their  punishments, 
I  am  told,  some  of  them  have  been  tormented  with 
the  thumb  screw;  one  was  tortured  in  an  iron  coffin 


148  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

filled  with  holes,  placed  close  to  a  fire;  another  1 
heard  of,  who  was  suspended  in  an  iron  cage,  to 
be  eaten  by  ravenous  birds  of  prey,  and  lived 
some  days  in  that  misery;  and  many  have  been 
entirely  worked  and  whipped  to  death  by  cruel  mas- 
ters. 

Loveg.  How  6an  a  God  of  mercy  bear  with  a  na- 
tion so  completely  vile!  but  I  trust  there  are  the 
t*ighteous  among  us,  who  will  still  save  our  land. 
But  I  was  told  by  a  very  worthy  Moravian  minister, 
who  called  upon  me  a  few  weeks  ago  in  his  way  to 
their  settlement  in  Fulneck,  that  their  situation  has 
feeen  softened  of  late. 

Heri'  Y6s,  sir;  as  soon  as  they  heard  that  a  vote 
in  parliament  had  been  passed  for  the  abolition  of 
the  slave  trade,  they  became  less  cruel  in  their  pu- 
nishments, and  enacted  laws  in  their  favour;  but 
these  laws  cannot  be  very  well  Observed  while  no 
ilegro  is  allowed  to  give  evidence  against  a  white 
iliart.  Nothing  could  so  effectually  prevent  these 
Calamities,  as  an  abolition  of  the  trade  itself,  as  it 
relates  to  fresh  importations;  as  by  this  step  it  would 
be  rendered  absolutely  necessary  to  use  them  with 
mercy,  that  they  may  increase  among  themselves. 
And  it  has  been  proved  to  demonstration,  that  such 
a  step  would  be  not  less  advantageous  to  the  interest 
of  the  nation,  than  to  the  cause  of  humanity. 

fVor.  Why,  then  the  very  best  that  Can  be  said, 
is,  that  they  are  taken  out  of  a  bad  state  and  put  into 
another  by  us  Christians,  is  we  are  called,  abun- 
dantly vvorse.  But  what  farther  proof  need  we  of 
this,  than  that,  after  they  have  been  conquered  or 
kidnapped,  they  are  torn  from  their  families  and  ten- 
derest  connexions,  and  shipped  on  board  those  horrid 
prisons  provided  for  their  transportation,  and  there 
chained,  man  to  man;  and,  till  of  late,  so  closely  con- 
ftned,  that  many  of  them  were  positively  killed  by 


DIALOGUE  IX.  149 

their  most  cruel  confinement;  and  if  they  do  not  now 
die  so  fast  as  formerly,  by  being  crowded  together,* 
yet  this  cannot  prevent  them  from  dying  of  broken 
hearts;  while  the  survivors,  after  they  are  landed, 
have  nothing  before  them  but  perpetual  slavery,  there 
to  receive  perhaps  no  better  treatment  than  what  you, 
Mr.  Littleworth,  would  give  to  an  ox  or  a  horse,  be- 
cause you  are  afraid  of  losing  your  profits  by  losing 
your  beast. 

Far.  Well,  now  I  can  assure  your  honour,  that 
though  for  many  years  I  have  been  such  a  negleclful 
sinner  about  the  state  of  my  soul,  yet  I  never  could 
bear  to  see  any  dumb  creature  in  misery;  many  and 
many  a  time  in  my  youthful  days  have  I  set  up  half 
the  night  when  a  cow  was  likely  to  calve.  Ay,  and 
the  poor  oxen,  because  I  love  to  take  notice  of  them 
and  feed  them,  and  give  them  a  pat  when  they  re- 
turn from  plough,  it  is  to  admiration  how  well  they 
know  me,  and  how  fond  they  seem  to  be  of  me;  and 
I  have  felt  more  of  this  since  I  have  known  the  Lord 
than  ever  I  did  before. 

Mrs.  Lillleivorth.  To  be  sure  Mr.  Littleworth  is 
very  tender  about  dumb  creatures,  he  would  not 
let  our  old  house  dog,  Watch,  be  killed  for  ever 
so  long  a  time,  though  he  got  so  dirty  and  nasty; 
and  then  he  would  send  to  the  doctor^s  for  some 
strong  sleeping  stuffy  that  he  might  not  know  when 
he  died. 

Loveg.  Well,  Mrs.  Littleworth,  this  is  a  full  proof 
of  the  excellency  of  real  Christianity;  nothinglike  the 
love  of  Christ  to  soften  our  hard  hearts  and  fill  us 
with  universal  love,  not  only  towards  each  other,  but 
also  to  every  creature  of  God  that  is  innocent  and 
useful  in  its  kind. 

*  I  am  told  that  the  law  on  this  point  is  now  most  shame- 
fully evaded. 

VOL.  L — 14 


150  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Jlliss  Polly.  Is  your  honour's  tea  sweet  enough? 
(^To  Mrs.  Worthy  and  daugliler.J  M:idain  and  Miss, 
I  hope  I  make  it  to  your  lilting. 

JVo7\  0  yes,  Miss  Polly,  and  if,  like  some  good 
people,  I  could  have  conceived  that  the  remedy  was 
in  any  wise  likely  to  he  proportionate  to  the  disease, 
knowing  so  well  the  selfishness  of  mankind,  I  had 
never  touched  another  lump  of  sugar  while  I  live. 
(To  Henry. J  But,  Mr.  Henry,  what  farther  do  you 
know  ahout  the  situation  of  these  poor  slaves  during 
what  is  called  the  Middle  Passage. 

Hen.  Why,  sir,  while  we  were  l^nng  off  Jamaica, 
I  saw  one  of  those  horrid  African  traders  land  its 
miserable  cargo,  and  afterwards,  being  in  his  ma- 
jesty's service,  was  permitted  to  go  on  board. 

iVor.  Why,  then  you  know  a  deal  about  it. 

Hen.  Sir,  1  have  known  enough  to  make  my  blood 
run  cold. 

War.  Did  you  see  these  poor  creatures  landed,  and 
afterwards  sold? 

Hen.  0  yes,  sir,  I  saw  it!  And  as  far  as  I  could 
understand  it,  nothing  can  equal  the  art,  excepting 
ti'.e  cruelty  exercised  against  these  ignominious  suf- 
ferers on  that  occasion,  for  the  purposes  of  our 
luxury  and  pride.  When  a  ship,/w/Z  slaved,  as  they 
call  it,  appears  off  shore,  all  are  alert.  Sometimes 
they  are  sold  on  board,  and  then,  like  a  set  of  cri- 
minals, condemned  to  be  hanged  in  our  own  land, 
who  have  their  irons  knocked  off  before  the  halter 
is  fixed  upon  their  necks,  they  are  washed,  shaved, 
and  dressed,  and  their  skins  oiled  in  order  to  give 
them  a  youthful  and  healthy  look.  The  tricks  of 
horse  jockeys  in  this  country  are  never  to  be  com- 
pared to  the  tricks  of  the  slave  jockeys  in  the  West 
ladies.  Every  art  is  used  to  shave  and  dress  them  in 
such  a  manner,  as  to  hide  every  gray  hair,  and  all 
appearances  of  age.     And^  till  of  late,  a  most  horrid 


DIALOGUE  IX.  151 

scramble  for  these  poor  creatures  used  to  take  place. 
The  general  bargain  being  struck,  these  prizes  of 
blood  are  exhibited,  and  then  all  are  left  to  avail 
themselves,  at  a  signal  given,  to  seize  the  best  slaves 
they  can  procure. 

Worthy.  What  must  these  poor  creatures  have 
thought  of  such  a  scramble?  If  they  thought  of 
our  general  character,  they  must  have  supposed 
that  Christians  are  devils,  and  that  Christianit}- 
was  forged  in  hell.  But  how  are  they  disposed  of 
now? 

Hen.  They  are  brought  on  shore,  while  the  most 
knavish  tricks  are  still  practised  by  these  dealers  in 
human  flesh.  0,  sir,  this  was  a  sight  that  cut  me  to 
the  heart  beyond  whatever  1  saw  before! 

[Here  Henry  drops  a  tear,  the  Farmer  catches 
the  sympathetic  flame,  and  says  to  Mr.  Love- 
good,] 

Far.  Dear  sir,  what  a  heart  the  Lord  has  given 
my  dear  chikl!  Who  could  have  thought  it,  when 
we  all  know  what  a  wicked  sinner  he  was  but  a  little 
time  ago? 

[Mrs.  Littleworth  is  also  very  much  affected,  and 
addresses  Mr.  Lovegood.] 

Mrs.  Litllew.  Well,  sir,  I  must  confess,  that  Henry 
is  a  charming  boy  since  he  has  taken  to  religion.  I 
wish,  with  all  my  heart,  I  was  like  him.  (To  her 
husband.)  And,  husband,  if  I  have  been  cross  with 
you  about  religion,  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  for  I 
know  I  have  done  wrong. 

Littltw.  (Quite  overcome.)  0,  my  dear  wife, 
what  joy  it  will  be  for  me  to  travel  with  you  to- 
wards the  celestial  city,  as  Master  Bunyan  calls  it, 
now  as  we  are  coming  towards  the  latter  end  of  our 
lives! 


152  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

[Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy,  and  Mr.  Lovegood  were 
so  affected  at  this  turn  of  the  conversation,  that  for 
awhile  it  was  discontinued;  the  writer  also  having 
been  somewhat  affected,  as  the  reporter  of  these 
events,  begs  thus  to  close  the  first  part  of  the  present 
Dialogue,  which,  directly  as  time  permits,  he  pur- 
poses, by  the  blessing  of  God,  to  re-assume,] 


DIALOGUE  X 


The  Evils  of  the  Slave  Trade  farther  deUneaied, 

During  the  interval  of  silence  created  by  the  affec- 
tionate and  sympathetic  feelings  of  the  company,  the 
tea-table  was  cleared,  fresh  coals  were  put  upon  the 
fire,  the  hearth  was  swept  up,  the  curtains  were  let 
down,  the  mould  candles,  bought  on  purpose  for  this 
occasion,  were  lighted,  INliss  Polly  having  put  a  very 
nice  piece  of  fringed  paper  round  the  bottoms  of  them, 
on  account  of  their  fine  company;  and  thus  the  con- 
versation recommenced. 

IVor.  I  am  so  much  interested  in  this  most  affect- 
ing narration,  that  I  should  be  glad,  when  your  spi- 
rits are  sufficiently  recruited,  if  you  could  but  tell 
me,  how  these  poor  slaves  behaved  themselves  when 
they  were  thus  exposed  to  sale,  and  wdiat  you  saw 
on  that  horrid  occasion. 

Hen.  Notwithstanding  every  art  to  set  them  off 
to  the  best  of  their  power,  and  to  make  them  look  as 
cheerful  as  they  can,  by  their  flattering  promises, 
yet  many  of  them  appeared  to  me  as  if  their  hearts 
were  ready  to  break  with  grief  and  despair,  while 
their  purchasers,  with  the  utmost  indifference,  ex- 
amined them  one  after  another,  as  people  would  a 
parcel  of  horses  at  a  fair.  Yes,  and  they  talked  of 
a  damaged  slave,  as  we  do  of  a  damaged  iiorse,  while 
some  of  them  wanted  working  slaves,  and  others  of 
them  breeding  slaves;  for  all  the  children  born  in 
slavery  are  not,  according  to  the  law  of  nature,  the 
14* 


154  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

property  of  their  parents,  but  of  their  owners;  yes, 
and  when  these  planters  and  their  overseers  have 
children  by  these  poor  negroes,  instead  of  having 
any  regard  to  the  offspring  of  their  vicious  passions, 
they  will  sufier  even  these  their  own  children  to  be 
bred  up  in  slavery  like  others.  I  remember  hear- 
ing a  story  of  this  sort  which  affected  rrle  exceed- 
ingly. 

Wor.  If  it  be  not  an  improper  question  to  ask  be- 
fore the  company  now  present,  what  was  the  story  ? 

Hen.  Why,  sir,  one  came  to  the  trader  for  a  breed- 
ing slave;  and  he  presented  him  to  one  who  looked 
very  sickly  and  weak.  The  trader  told  him  that  he 
could  answer  for  that  girl,  as  she  was  with  child 
Avhen  he  bought  her;  that  they  were  in  hopes  to 
have  had  the  husband  too,  who  was  a  fine  young 
fellow^,  but  he  being  terribly  resolute  in  resisting  as 
long  as  he  could,  while  they  were  breaking  up  their 
town,  they  were  obliged  to  kill  him;  that  about  the 
middle  of  the  passage  the  girl  miscarried,  and  that 
it  had  been  a  considerable  expense  to  keep  her  alive; 
that  she  was  a  strong  healthy  girl,  and  would  do 
either  for  breeding  or  labour,  provided  she  did  not 
die  of  the  sulks. 

Loveg.  Or,  in  other  words,  die  of  a  broken  heart, 
through  the  barbarous  usage  of  these  monsters. 

Hen.  Yes,  sir,  it  means  all  that;  for  take  whatever 
care  you  will  of  them,  which  a  captain  will  natu- 
rally do  for  his  own  interest,  it  is  amazing  how  many 
of  them  die  one  after  another.  All  attempts  to  air 
them  upon  the  deck,  to  make  them  dance  even  by 
the  lash  of  a  whip,  against  their  wills,  for  the  sake  of 
giving  them  exercise,  that  their  health  may  be  pre- 
served can  be  of  no  avail;  they  are  made  quite  sick 
at  heart,  and  even  when  they  have  been  forced  to 
take  food  against  their  wills,  they  have  immediately 
sickened  and  again  cast  it  up;   and  it  is  supposed 


DIALOGUE  X.  155 

principally  from  this  cause,  one-third  of  them  actually 
die  on  the  passage.  You  may  judge  how  miserable 
they  are,  when  they  are  obliged  to  be  watched  very 
closely,  lest  they  should  destroy  themselves  to  get 
rid  of  their  misery  with  their  lives,  which  many  have 
done  by  throwing  themselves  overboard,  or  by  other 
methods,  when  they  had  it  in  their  power;  but  the 
case  of  another  poor  family  affected  me  still  more. 

fVor,  What  was  that,  Mr.  Henry? 

Mrs.  Wor.  Really,  Mr.  Henry,  your  stories  are 
so  affecting  about  these  poor  creatures,  that  I  do  not 
know  if  I  shall  have  sufficient  resolution  to  sit  and 
hear  them.  My  poor  daughter  seems  quite  over- 
come  by  it  already. 

Miss  Wor.  Yes,  ma'am,  but  if  you  please,  I  should 
like  to  hear  it,  as  it  makes  me  thankful  to  think 
how  happy  we  are  in  this  country  in  comparison  of 
others. 

Wor.  But  it  is  by  no  means  to  our  credit,  while 
we  are  so  tenacious  of  liberty  in  our  own  land,  that 
we  should  be  allowed  to  entail  the  curse  of  slavery 
upon  others;  and  for  no  other  reason,  as  I  can  find, 
but  because  the}'^  are  of  a  different  complexion  to 
ourselves.  All  this  is  sad  selfish  work.  But  let  ua 
try  if  we  cannot  hear  your  other  story. 

Hen.  Why,  sir,  a  man  and  his  wife,  each  of  them 
I  suppose  between  thirty  and  forty,  and  two  fine- 
looking  boys,  the  one  about  twelve,  the  other  I  should 
judge  two  years  younger,  all  one  family,  were  taken 
captives  in  one  of  their  horrid  sham  wars.  To  keep 
them  from  having  the  sulks,  it  seems  it  was  pro- 
mised them  that  they  should  be  all  sold  in  one  lot; 
but  the  trader  liaving  met  with  a  rich  planter  who 
wanted  some  hearty  boy  slaves,  finding  he  could 
make  the  best  bargain  of  them  by  selling  them  sepa- 
rate, had  them  all  four  at  a  distance  from  the  rest: 


156  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

soon  afterwards  a  conductor^  came  to  drag  the  pur- 
chased children  from  their  parents!  As  soon  as  the}?^ 
perceived  this  cruel  separation  was  determined,  the 
whole  Aimily  ran  into  each  other's  arms,  and  em- 
braced one  another  in  such  a  manner  as  that  they 
could  scarcely  be  torn  asunder.  At  length  the  boys 
were  compelled  to  go  to  the  destined  place  of  their 
slavery,  while  the  parents  appeared  like  two  crea- 
tures perfectly  distracted  with  grief;  for  they  had 
now  lost  their  last  miserable  consolation  through 
life,  that  they  might  only  live  and  die  together, 
though  in  a  state  of  cruel  slavery.  But  1  saw  ano- 
ther scene  of  the  like  sort  that  affected  me  more 
than  either  of  the  former. 

Far.  Well,  well,  to  be  sure  it  is  most  dreadful 
bad.  I  wonder  that  his  Majesty  does  not  put  it 
down,  for  they  sa}',  (God  bless  him!)  he  is  as  good  a 
sort  of  a  gentleman  in  himself  as  ever  lived,  and  that 
he  loves  to  make  every  one  happy  that  is  about  him. 
It  comes  to  my  mind,  that  when  your  honour  goes 
to  I^ondon,  could  you  but  call  on  the  Lord  Cancellor, 
the  good  gentleman  who  gave  our  minister  the  living, 
and  he  was  to  go  and  tell  the  king  ihe  rights  of  it,  he 
would  soon  put  it  down. 

Loveg.  [smiling)  0  but  the  king  cannot  act  with- 
out the  consent  of  his  parliament,  otherwise  I  dare 
say,  had  he  his  own  will  in  this  respect,  he  would 
make  others  as  happy  as  himself. 

Far.  Ay,  so  I  dare  say,  for  they  say  he  speaks 
mighty  good  nalur'dlij  to  every  body,  and  that  he 
diverts  himself  by  doing  something  in  our  way. 
Now  I  like  himi  wonderfully  for  that. 

IVor.  And  so  do  I  too,  for  I  think  it  bespeaks  a 
simplicity  and  goodness  of  disposition,  which  would 
be  an  ornament  to  the  greatest  monarch  upon  the 

*  The  reader  is  desired  to  notice  what  soft  expressions  are 
invented  to  take  off  the  odium  from  the  agents  of  this  horrid 
traffic. 


DIALOGUE   X. 


157 


earth;  and  why  should  not  a  king  divert  himself  as 
he  likes  best?  I  am  sure  a  little  farming  is  both  in- 
nocent and  instructive.  Indeed  I  know  not  what  his 
Majesty  could  better  patronise,  as  the  strength  and 
wealth  of  the  nation  so  much  depend  on  it.  Better 
be  fond  of  the  plough  than  the  play-house. 

Far.  Why,  but  if  our  Parliament  men  can  put  down 
these  bad  ways,  I  wonder  they  don't  see  to  it. 

Wor.  Alas!  as  it  happens,  there  is  a  deal  of  self' 
interested ness  stands  in  the  way. 

Far.  Well,  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  your  honour 
would  but  stand  to  be  one  of  our  par/iamenf  men 
for  Mapleton.  1  am  sure  you  would  do  all  in  your 
power  to  put  it  down.  I  remember  there  was  a  main 
bustle  made  against  these  wicked  ways  some  time 
ago,  but  that  did  not  icind  up  so  well  as  it  should. 

iVor.  Indeed  if  it  was  in  my  power  to  remove 
these  evils,  it  would  soon  be  done,-  but  as  it  is  a 
difficult  thing  to  get  into  parliament  with  a  clear 
conscience,  through  the  drunkenness  and  wicked- 
ness which  in  general  abound  at  the  time  of  an  elec- 
tion, I  had  rather  spend  my  days  in  retirement;  and 
do  some  little  good  among  my  neighbours  in  the 
country,  than  waste  half  my  time  in  London  in  at- 
tending parliament.  (To  Henry.)  But,  Mr.  Henry, 
we  must  see  if  we  cannot  muster  up  courage  to  hear 
your  other  story. 

Hen.  Oh,  sir,  as  I  was  looking  on  upon  these 
miserable  creatures,  I  saw  a  poor  girl  among  the  rest 
sobbing  and  crying  in  the  deepest  distress,  and  at  last 
she  quite  fainted  away.  The  captain  ordered  her 
to  be  carried  off  to  a  distance.  A  young  man  slave, 
who  was  standing  by,  was  not  less  affected  than  her- 
self; and  he,  it  seems,  was  brought  over  from  the 
same  country  about  three  years  before.  Seeing  the 
5^oung  woman  in  that  condition,  he  fell  down  at  the 
feet  of  the  man  who  had  the  care  of  her,  and  kissed 


158  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

them  several  times,  begojing,  as  for  his  life,  that  he 
might  go  and  speak  to  her.  At  length  he  was  per- 
mitted. He  ran  to  her  with  astonishing  eagerness, 
embraced  and  kissed  her  several  times,  crying  out, 
0  my  sister,  Ora!  0  my  dear  sister,  Ora!  I  was  so 
affected  by  this  scene,  that  I  had  it  upon  my  mind 
sleeping  and  waking  for  several  nights  and  days  af- 
terwards. 

J^Irs.  Wor.  Indeed,  Mr.  Henry,  the  story  seems 
to  have  been  too  much  for  us  all.  I  am  sure  it  has 
been  too  much  for  me;  but  do  you  know  what  be- 
came of  them  afterwards? 

Hen.  Why,  madam,  as  soon  as  the  captain's  man, 
who  had  the  care  of  the  young  w^oman,  perceived 
that  she  and  the  young  man  were  brother  and  sister, 
although  inured  to  these  scenes  of  misery,  he  could 
not  help  dropping  a  tear  or  two  of  compassion  with 
the  rest  of  us.  After  tlie  girl  was  somewhat  reco- 
vered, they  were  left  to  converse  together.  The 
farther  particulars  of  this  history  I  could  not  learn, 
but  I'll  warrant  it  was  tragical  enough.  After  this, 
however,  the  case  was  made  known  to  the  owner, 
when,  according  to  the  true  spirit  of  the  trade,  lest 
the  brother  and  sister  should  both  of  them  take  the 
sulks,  so  as  to  endanger  their  labour,  or  perhaps  the 
loss  of  their  Jives  by  their  mutual  grief  for  each  other, 
it  was  determined  it  should  be  contrived,  if  possible, 
that  they  might  both  live  together  on  the  same  plan- 
tation. After  some  difficulty,  it  seems  this  was  ac- 
complished, and  when  they  were  informed  of  this 
event,  to  see  how  they  leapt  for  joy,  how  they  em- 
braced and  kissed  each  other,  while  they  went  along 
arm  in  arm  to  the  plantation  which  was  to  be  the 
destined  place  of  their  labour,  was  not  a  less  affect- 
ing scene  than  the  former. 

Loveg.  But,  oh,  what  must  the  parents  of  these 
two  affectionate  creatures  have  felt  on  the  loss  of 


DIALOGUE  X.  159 

such  children!  {To  Mr.  Worlhy.)  What  should 
you  and  I  {Qe\,  sir,  if  we  were  to  be  bereaved  of  our 
children  in  such  an  unmerciful   manner? 

Wor.  Oh  it  is  too  much  to  be  thou2;ht  of.  [To 
Henry.)  Indeed,  Mr.  Henry,  I  think  you  must  dis- 
continue your  stories,  for  Mrs.  Worthy  seems  more 
affected  than  myself,  and  my  poor  daughter  is  more 
overcome  than  either  of  us;  and  as  to  Mr.  Love- 
good,  you  see  how  much  he  feels  on  the  subject, 
though  as  yet  you  have  given  us  nothing  of  tiie 
history  of  poor  Sancho,  which  you  say,  is  as  af- 
fecting as  any  of  the  former.  I  think  for  the  pre- 
sent we  have  heard  as  much  as  we  can  bear,  and 
that  the  rest  of  it  must  be  deferred  till  another  op- 
portunit}'. 

Hen.  It  is  not  only  very  affecting,  but  equally  as 
improving;  for  he  told  me  a  lovely  story  of  his  con- 
version to  the  knowledge  and  grace  of  the  gospel  by 
the  Moravian  Missionaries. 

J\Irs.  Wor.  What  can  be  the  excuse  for  such  dis- 
graceful and  abominable  cruelties  against  our  fellow- 
creatures? 

Hen.  Why,  madam,  we  have  been  frequently  told 
by  some  that  they  are  scarcely  to  be  esteemed  as  our 
fellow-creatures,  but  a  species  of  beings  considerably 
below  us. 

Wor.  {fired  with  holy  indignaiion.)  Is  it  possible 
to  admit  such  a  thought  for  a  moment?  Can  they 
be  worse  brutes  naturally  than  ourselves?  What  a 
dishonour  in  us  to  carry  on  such  an  abominable 
traffic,  and  for  ethers  to  attempt  to  vindicate,  or 
even  to  palliate  it,  when  e\ery  principle  belonging 
to  it  is  founded  upon  incurable  injustice!  For  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  admitting  their  argument  for  the  mo- 
ment, if  it  can  be  proved  that  their  natural  under- 
standings are  in  a  small  degree  inferior  to  our  own, 
are  we  from  thence  to  infer  ihat  we  have  a  right  to 


160  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

set  them  at  variance  among  themselves,  that  we  may 
kidnap,  rob,  and  murder,  as  we  like  best?  and  are 
we  to  set  the  example  to  all  Europe,  by  being  the 
first  and  principal  transgressors,  that  we  may  avail 
ourselves  annually  of  more  than  twenty  thousand 
slaves  for  the  sake  of  our  luxuries;  and  destroy  or 
enslave  at  least  double  that  number  of  our  fellow 
creatures,  considering  the  multitudes  we  are  obliged 
to  murder  by  sham  wars,  in  order  that  we  may  pro- 
cure them,  and  consequently  draw  down  by  our 
infamous  example  the  same  evil  on  as  many  more 
besides?  Will  reason  or  conscience  for  a  moment 
submit  to  it,  when  the  only  pretext  which  can  be 
given  is,  that  we  suppose  their  understandings  are 
inferior  to  ours?  If  so,  why  not  pity  and  protect 
them  till  better  instructed?  But  cowards  alone  take 
the  advantage  of  fools,  supposing  the  poor  Africans 
to  be  such.  What  then  shall  we  call  ourselves, 
Chnstlans  or  devils?  and  can  a  race  of  devils  act 
worse  against  us  than  we  do  against  them?  And,  as 
they  have  exactly  the  same  right,  if  they  had  equal 
powxr,  to  plunder  us  as  we  have  plundered  them, 
how  should  we  bear  it,  if  a  fleet  of  their  ships  should 
hover  round  our  shores  like  a  set  of  vultures  after 
their  prey?  Would  not  every  principle  of  self-inte- 
rested indignation  be  roused  in  us?  If  then  it  be 
admitted  that  their  understandings  be  weaker  than 
ours,  yet  I  am  sure  of  this,  that  in  art  and  wicked- 
ness, as  it  relates  both  to  our  principle  and  practice 
towards  them,  we  abundantly  exceed  them. 

jFar.  Well,  I  wish  with  all  my  heart,  our  'squire 
was  in  the  thickest  of  them,  he  would  give  it  them 
roundly. 

JMrs.  Lit.  Patty,  my  child,  ring  the  bell. 

Miss  Polly.  No,  mother,  Patty  and  Nancy  are 
going  out  themselves  to  bring  it  in. 


DIALOGUE  X.  161 

[Miss  Patty  and  Miss  Nancy  went  out  immedi- 
ately, and,  by  way  of  keeping  up  an  old  hospitable 
custom,  speedily  returned,  Miss  Nancy  with  a  heaped 
plate-full  of  cake,  cut  in  slices,  and  Miss  Patty  with 
a  large  waiter,  with  glasses  of  wine  already  poured 
out.] 

Mrs.  Lit.  (To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy.)  Madam,  I 
hope  you  and  the  'squire  will  be  so  kind  as  to  drink 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  eat  a  bit  of  take,  after  your  tea. 

Mrs.  Wor,  No,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Littleworth,  we 
seldom  take  any  thing  after  tea  till  supper  time. 

Far.  I  hope  your  honour  and  madam  will  be  free, 
and  taste  a  little  of  the  cake  that  my  wife  and  daugh- 
ters have  been  making,  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  It 
is  outlandish  wine,  the  same  as  your  honour  drinks  at 
the  hall.  My  son  went  for  it  to  Mr.  Vintner's  of  the 
George. 

JVor.  Well,  Mr.  Littleworth,  for  once  I  shall  have 
no  objection  to  taste  your  wine;  and  as  my  wife  and 
daughter  have  been  so  much  affected  at  the  stories 
Mr.  Henry  has  been  telling  us,  I  hope  they  will  fol- 
low my  example. 

[As  the  fashion  of  drinking  health  was  not  yet  ba- 
nished from  Grace-hill  farm,  Mr.  Worthy  drank  the 
family  of  the  Littleworths,  then  sipped  his  glass  again, 
and  drank  his  Majesty's  good  health.  On  which 
the  farmer  observed,  in  his  younger  days  how  his 
father  directed  him  to  drink  the  Pretender's  good 
health,  but  that  noW  he  could  drink  his  Majesty's 
good  health,  with  all  his  heart.  The  same  glass  served 
to  drink  success  to  farming,  and  the  last  sip  serVed 
for  another  toast. — A  speedy  abolition  of  the  Slave 
Trade.  Mr.  Worthy  was  the  toast-master,  in  which 
Mr.  Lovegood  heartily  joined  him,  and  thus  ended 
the  ceremony  of  the  cake  and  wine.] 

Jjovegn  Well,  but  Mr.  Henry,  as  it  is  agreed  that 

VOL.  I. — 15 


162  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

all  your  stories  will  be  too  much  for  us  at  the  present, 
and  as  we  must  hear  about  poor  Sancho  and  his  bre- 
thren, may  1  request  the  favour  that  the  next  time 
this  company  meet  it  may  be  at  the  vicarage,  some 
Wednesday  before  the  lecture;  {to  Mr.  JVorlhy)  but 
I  am  afraid,  sir,  we  shall  not  have  that  pleasure,  for 
above  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  as  I  hear  you  are 
going  to  take  Mrs.  Worthy  to  see  her  relations  iu 
Lancashire. 

Wor.  Directly  as  we  return,  I  am  sure,  we  shall 
be  all  very  happy  to  come  and  see  you,  when  we 
shall  hope,  not  only  for  some  profitable  conversation 
about  poor  Sancho,  but  a  good  sermon  in  the  bargain. 
But  shall  we  not  interrupt  you,  sir,  in  your  medita- 
tions on  that  evening? 

Loveg.  0  no,  sir;  I  hope  I  shall  be  prepared  to  talk 
to  the  poor  people  who  attend  our  lecture  before  you 
come.  Besides,  such  sort  of  conversation  as  we  shall 
then  have,  I  am  sure  will  be  no  impediment  to  the 
sermon:  and,  by  such  a  kind  visit,  you  will  confer  a 
favour  on  Mrs.  Lovegood,  who  from  her  attention  to 
her  family  concerns,  is  so  much  confined  at  home. 

Wor.  (to  Mr.  Lovegood)  Having  now  settled 
these  matters,  we  can  allow  you  sufficient  scope  of 
time  for  the  Bible,  a  little  singing  and  prayer. 

J^ar.  Ay,  and  what  a  mercy  it  is  when  God  sends 
ministers  that  know  how  to  pray.  I  well  remember, 
when  I  was  first  awakened  to  a  sense  of  my  evil  state, 
as  how  when  our  rector,  Mr.  Dolittle,  came,  as  he 
thought,  to  set  me  riglit  again,  when  I  asked  him  if 
he  would  take  the  Bible  and  expound  a  chapter  and 
go  to  prayer,  poor  gentleman,  how  he  jumped  about 
like  a  parched  pea  in  a  frying  pan.  What  a  pity 
it  is  when  the  neglectful  and  blind  are  sent  by  blind 
men  to  lead  the  blind. 

[Miss  Nancy  directly  took  the  hint — ran  out  im- 
mediately and  brought  in  her  father's  large  Bible  out 


DIALOGUE  X.  163 

of  the  kitchen,  placed  it  before  Mr.  Lovegood,  and 
snufied  the  candles.] 

Far.  Why,  Nancy,  my  dear,  you  should  not  have 
brought  in  thai  Bible.  (To  Mr.  Lovegood)  Why, 
sir,  1  should  be  quite  ashamed  if  you  were  to  see 
what  marks  and  notes  I  have  made  in  it  while  I  sat 
reading  in  the  kitchen  by  the  fire-side. 

Loveg.  Never  mind  that,  my  friend.  I  always 
love  to  see  a  marked  Bible;  it  is,  in  my  opinion,  a 
good  evidence  that  our  Bibles  do  us  good,  if  we  can 
mark  and  note  them  while  we  read  them:  you  know 
that  we  pray  that  we  may  "  read,  mark,  learn,  and  in- 
wardly digest  '^  the  blessed  word  of  life. 

Far.  Amen,  I  pray  God  we  may.  But,  with  your 
leave,  sir,  I  had  rather  you  would  read  out  of  another. 
(To  his  wife  J  Dame,  will  you  send  for  that  nice  fine 
Bible,  with  the  pictures  in  it,  which  your  aunt  left 
you  as  a  legacy.  It  never  can  be  made  a  better  use 
of  than  on  the  present  occasion. 

[The  fine  best  Bible  was  accordingly  fetched  down 
out  of  the  curious  old  chest,  or  cabinet,  in  which  it 
was  imprisoned,  while  Mr.  Lovegood  said,  that  he 
wished  it  might  be  as  much  marked  and  noted  as  was 
the  other;  observing,  at  the  same  time,  that  it  was 
from  the  kitchen  Bible  the  people  got  the  most  good. 
Mr.  Lovegood,  however,  having  been  much  afiected, 
begged  leave  first  to  walk  out  for  a  few  minutes  into 
the  garden,  on  which  occasion,  being  a  man  of  a  very 
fruitful  and  a  retentive  mind,  he  composed  a  hymn, 
which  afterwards  was  sung  at  the  family  service. 
And  now  Mr.  Lovegood,  "  like  a  workman  that 
needeth  not  be  ashamed,"  opened  the  precious  word 
of  life.  The  chapter  he  chose  was  the  12th  of 
the  Romans.  He  dropped  some  very  pertinent  ob- 
servations while  he  read  the  chapter,  but  his  attention 
seemed  peculiarly  arrested  by  the  following  words: 
/'  Let  love  be  without  dissimulation;  abhor  that  which 


164  VILLAGE  DIALOayES. 

is  evil;  cleave  to  that  which  is  good;  be  kindly  af- 
fectioned  one  to  another  with  brotherly  love,  in  ho- 
nour preferring  one  another."  Then  he  quoted  from 
St.  John, "  God  is  love;"  and  dropped  some  very  wise 
and  rich  remarks,  how  God,  our  God  in  Christ,  being 
love,  needed  no  other  happiness  than  what  he  pos- 
sessed in  his  own  infinitely  lovely  existence;  and 
that  we  were  proportionably  happy  in  the  enjoyment 
of  our  existence  also,  as  we  existed  in  him.  He  ob- 
served that  the  highest  indulgence  to  a  graciaus  mind 
w^as  to  confer  that  happiness  on  others,  in  loving  them 
and  doing  them  good,  as  through  the  pardoning  love 
of  Christ  such  infinite  good  had  been  done  to  us  by 
our  regeneration  and  conversion  to  him.  That  self- 
love  was  the  natural  principle  on  which  all  mankind 
acted  in  their  fallen  state;  that  the  grace  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  was  communicated  to  crucify  and  mortify  this 
hellish  principle  in  man,  and  to  implant  in  him  ano- 
ther principle  perfectly  supernatural,  a  most  solemn 
and  sacred  love  to  God  for  his  own  sake,  and  a  most 
merciful  and  tender  loye  to  man  for  God's  sake.  He 
strongly  remarked  how  contrary  a  spirit  of  tyrann}' 
and  oppression  was  to  the  spirit  of  Christianity;  that 
sin  turned  men  into  monsters,  rendered  them  "  impla- 
cable, unmerciful,  and  without  natural  affection;" 
that  the  grace  of  the  gospel,  on  the  contrary,  turns 
monsters  into  men,  not  only  directing  them  to  be 
loving,  gentle,  and  merciful  amo.ng  themselves,  "in 
distributing  to  the  necessities  of  the  saints,  and  in 
being  given  to  hospitality;"  but  constraining  them 
to  go  beyond  all  this,  even  "  to  bless  our  very  perse- 
cutors while  we  could  recompense  to  n,o  man  evil  for 
evil;  but,  if  possible,  as  much  as  in  us  lay,  to  live 
peaceably  with  all  men;"  therefore  the  Christian, 
instead  of  avenging  himself,  chose  rather  "  to  give 
place  unto  wrath."  If  therefore  even  "his  very 
enemy  hungered,  he  would  feed  him,  if  he,  thirsted. 


DIALOGUE  X.  165 

he  would  give  him  drink;"  thus,  instead  of  being 
overcome  of  evil,  he  was  directed,  like  his  Lord  and 
Master,  "  to  overcome  evil  with  good."  Thus  he 
went  on  with  the  chapter,  impressing  the  same  tem- 
pers and  graces  on  the  family  as  were  then  before 
them  in  the  Bible.  He  then  observed  how  the  re- 
verse of  all  this  was  exemplified  in  the  horrid  bu- 
siness of  the  slave  trade;  that  the  whole  of  its  esta- 
blishment was  founded  on  the  "mammon  of  unrigh- 
teousness," on  a  selfish  love  of  the  world;  and  that 
the  result  of  this  infernal  traffic  could  not  be  other- 
wise than  what  it  really  was,  a  regular  system  of 
wholesale  licensed  thievery  and  murder;  that  instead 
of  supposing  the  principles  of  Christianity  could  for 
a  moment  allow  such  a  hellish  commerce  in  human 
blood,  directly  as  we  are  made  by  the  power  of  the 
gospel  what  we  should  be  by  the  letter  of  the  law, 
we  are  blessed  with  the  spirit  of  universal  love.  We 
are  meek,  merciful,  loving,  "pure  in  heart,"  "blame- 
less and  harmless,  the  sons  of  God."  The  furious 
lion  is  softened  into  the  lamb,  and  all  that  is  veno- 
mous and  evil,  as  in  the  serpent  kind,  is  powerfully 
extracted  from  our  natures  by  "the  blood  of  the  ever- 
lasting covenant,"  whereby  we  "draw  near  to  God," 
and  are  constrained  to  live  to  his  glory. 

Next  he  dropped  some  delicate  hints  on  the  blessed- 
ness of  this  religion,  as  it  brought  down  such  happi- 
ness into  families,  by  making  them  experience  a  little 
heaven  in  themselves  and  their  houses.  The  Farmer, 
Henry,  and  Miss  Nancy  felt  the  application,  for  they 
could  "set  to  their  seal  that  God  was  true,"  in  the 
glorious  influences  of  the  power  of  converting  grace 
upon  their  own  hearts. 

After  the  chapter  had  been  thus  read  and  ex- 
pounded, the  following  hymn,  just  before  composed 
by  Mr.  Lovegood,  was  given  out,  and  Thomas  New-* 
man  pitched  the  tune: 

15* 


166  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Now  let  the  efforts  of  our  praise 
Arise  to  him  who  reigns  above ; 
In  whose  essential  holiness 
Dwells  the  eternal  flame  of  love. 

Jesus,  our  God,  thy  love  we  sing, 
ynknown  to  sinners  of  our  race, 
•     Till  thy  compassion  brought  thee  down 
To  save  us  by  thy  wondrous  grace. 

Then  what  is  heav'n  but  as  we  find 
In  thee  is  all  vye  wish  to  be ; 
And  what  is  hell  in  man,  dear  Lord,. 
3ut  as  he  is  devoid  of  thee? 

Then  where  is  heav'n  but  in  the  soul. 
Who  dwells  in  thee  supremely  bless'd, 
And  where  is  hell  but  on  the  shore 
Where  mercy  finds  no  peaceful  rest.' 

^oon  may  this  love  and  mercy  reach 
The  swarthy  tribes  of  Afric's  shore ; 
Those  slaves  of  sin  thou  canst  set  free,. 
And  bid  them  go  and  sin  no  more. 

We  blush  with  holy  shame  that  men 
Who  bear  thy  sacred  name,  our  God,, 
Should  dare  one  single  man  enslave, 
Or  shed  one  drop  of  human  blood. 

Kindle  the  flame  of  love  divine 
In  some  kind  heralds  of  thy  grace; 
And  bid  each  distant  clime  receive 
The  gladsome  news  of  heavenly  peace"! 

After  the  hymn,  Mr.  Lovegood  offered  up  a  very 
appropriate  prayer,  first  for  themselves  and  the  fa- 
mily, blessing  God  for  the  grace  already  given,  and 
praying  for  farther  vouchsafements  where  still  needed 
for  the  rest  of  the  company  then  present;  for  the  peo- 
ple of  his  ministerial  charge;  for  the  farther  spread 
of  the  gospel;  for  the  king  and  government;  and  for 
those  objects  of  human  wo  who  had  been  made  the 


DIALOGUE  X.  167 

subject  of  their  conversation. — Soon  after  this  the 
company  withdrew;  and  if  the  reader  be  not  tired  in 
reading,  he  must  exercise  his  patience  in  waiting  the 
return  of  Mrs.  Worthy  from  Lancashire,  before  the 
subject  of  the  slave  trade  be  reassumed  in  another 
dialogue,  and  then  concluded.  In  the  interval,  how-, 
ever,  the  reader  will  find  in  the  next  two  dialogues 
a  more  minute  account  of  the  family  of  the  Little- 
worths  than  was  at  first  designed 


DIALOGUE  XI 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  FAMILY  OF  THE  LITTLE  WORTHS, 
WITH  THE  CHARACTER  OF  RECTOR  FILLPOT,  AND 
MR.  MEEK,  HIS  WELSH  CURATE. 

There  lived  in  the  town  of  Ruckford,  about  fif- 
teen miles  from  Mapleton,  a  Mr.  Nathaniel  Steady- 
man,  who  had  united  himself  to  Farmer  Littleworth's 
family  by  marrying  his  younger  sister.  His  occupa- 
tion was  that  of  a  Currier,  in  which  line  he  did  a 
considerable  deal  of  business,  and  was  in  general  es- 
teem among  his  neighbours  for  his  candour  and  in- 
tegnty. 

The  family  of  the  Littleworths,  however,  were 
unfortunately  educated.  In  point  of  religion  they 
were  tutored  in  all  the  high  church  notions  of  the 
day;  so  that  the  least  deviation  from  the  established 
church,  was,  in  their  esteem,  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  a  thousand  deviations  from  the  common  rules 
of  morality;  insomuch,  that  even  cursing  and  swear- 
ing was  a  much  smaller  offence  than  attending  a 
conventicle,  and  scarcely  any  offence  at  all,  provided 
people  exercised  their  profane  talents  against  the 
Dissenters.  Report  also  says,  that  old  Mr.  Simon 
Littleworth,  with  all  his  family,  used  to  drink  the 
Pretender's  health  after  dinner,  and  that  it  was  well 
he  did  not  lose  his  life  in  the  rebellion  in  the  year 
1745,  for  entertaining  and  encouraging  the  rebel 
army  when  in  the  North,  against  the  present  family 
upon  the  throne,  by  whom  our  civil  and  religious 


DIALOGUE  XI.  169 

liberties  were  established.  Mr.  Simon  Littleworth, 
the  father  of  the  present  Farmer  Littleworth,  loved 
getting  money  to  his  heart,  but  could  not  bear  to 
spend  it,  even  on  a  decent  education  for  his  chil- 
dren. He  died  about  the  year  1776,  leaving  a  fortune 
among  his  children  of  about  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  each,  entailing  also  upon  them  all  the  preju- 
dices of  an  unhappy  day  and  generation,  conceiving 
higher  notions  of  the  religion  of  Dr.  Sachevei:eU*  than 
of  that  of  Jesus  Christ  and  his  Apostles, 

According  therefore  to  all  probable  circumstances, 
Farmer  Littleworth  would  never  have  submitted  to 
have  heard  the  gospel,  if  he  had  not  first  heard  it  in 
a  church.  But  the  Farmer,  though  still  a  churchman, 
was  now  happily  delivered  from  the  trammels  of  his 
former  education,  and  began  to  entertain  equal  love 
to  Christians  of  all  denominations:  yet  not  so  the 
rest  of  the  family,  which  now  consisted  only  of  him- 
self, and  two  sisters;  his  elder  brother  and  a  sister 
having  been  dead  some  years  ago. 

His  elder  sister,  Polly,  was  the  exact  counterpart 
of  Miss  Polly,  to  whom  she  stood  godmother.  She 
was,  in  her  younger  days,  so  self-willed  and  perverse, 
that  no  person  could  ever  venture  to  ask  her  the  ques- 
tion, if  she  chose  to  alter  her  state;  which  also,  by 
general  report,  will  probabjy  be  the  fate  of  the  god- 
daughter, as  well  as  the  aunt. 

The  Farmer's  sister  continued  to  live  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Mapleton  till  she  was  near  sixty;  but 
on  account  of  the  pressure  o,f  the  times,  has  lately 
removed  farther  north,  to  make  a  joint  purse  with 

*  Dr.  Sacheverell  was  the  high  church  champion  in  the 
days  of  Queen  Anne.  He  was  impeached  by  the  commons 
for  his  seditious  high  church  principles;  his  sermon  was  or- 
dered to  be  burnt,  while  he  himself  was  suspended  from  his 
ministry  for  three  years. 


170  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

another  old  maiden  lady,  known  by  the  name  of  Ma- 
dam Vixen.  And  though  she  was  Miss  Polly  all  the 
time  she  continued  near  her  brother,  yet  since  her 
remove  she  has  submitted,  though  with  some  regret, 
to  the  graver  appellation  of  Mrs.  Mary. 

Thus  convenience  has  brought  those  two  old  la- 
dies together;  though  they  are  the  frequent  cause 
of  vexation  to  each  other,  yet  hereby  they  are  just 
able  to  keep  a  maid  servant  between  them,  who  is 
generally  changed  about  six  times  in  the  year. 

Madam  Vixen  is  often  accustomed  to  boast  that 
she  had  a  superior  education,  and  therefore  attempts 
to  correct  Mrs.  Mary  for  her  vulgarity  of  expres- 
sion ;  and  also  that  her  family  wa&  of  much  better 
blood  than  the  family  of  the  Littleworths.  This 
is  a  frequent  cause  of  mortification  to  Mrs.  Mary, 
who  plies  her  in  return  for  her  family  pride  and 
self-conceit.  Thus  alternately  they  irritate  and  vex 
each  other,  till  they  make  themselves  so  peevish  and 
fretful  thereby,  that  they  scarcely  exchange  a  word 
for  several  days  together.  During  these  intervals 
of  ill-humour,  there  are  frequent  threats  of  separa- 
tion, till  these  little  fracas  are  settled  by  the  neigh- 
bouring gossips  bringing  them  some  new  tales  of 
the  affairs  of  the  neighbourhood,  which  they  delight 
to  hear,  retail,  and  exaggerate.  Then  an  innocent 
game  at  cards  again  sets  them  a  quarrelling,  and 
makes  them  guilty  of  the  same  sort  of  conduct 
against  each  other.  Thus  they  rub  on^  together, 
from  time  to  time;  yet,  if  their  dispositions  are  dis- 
similar in  some  instances,  in  others  they  are  perfect- 
ly alike. 

In  point  of  religion  they  are  precisely  agreed; 
for,  though  they  seldom  trouble  the  church  but  when 
the  weather  is  very  fine,  yet  they  do  their  duty  in 
reading  the  Psalms  and  Lessons  at  home:  while  two 
or  three  times  a  year  they  submit  to  the  pens^nce 


DIALOGUE  XI.  171 

of  a  gloomy  week  of  preparation  before  they  re- 
ceive the  holy  sacrament;  which  is  seldom  done  un- 
less on  the  great  festivals.  But  in  nothing  are  they 
more  similar  than  in  their  belief  of  various  signs, 
and  omens,  and  prognostications;  on  which  they  are 
ever  exercising  their  minds,  and  tormenting  each 
other,  under  the  expectation  of  the  most  gloomy 
events.  The  prognostications  of  Moore's  almanack 
are  always  received  and  read  by  them  with  pro- 
digious avidity  and  glee;  and  though  they  are  aware 
that  the  first  Francis  Moore,  the  original  physiciati 
and  astrologer,  must  long  ago  have  been  dead;  yet 
they  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  present  Francis 
Moore  is  as  much  a  real  character,  and  a  far  wiser 
astrologer  tlian  his  father;  he  being  also  the  se- 
venth son  of  his  father,  who  was  himself  a  seventh 
son.  How  far  it  was  done  with  a  design  to  im- 
pose on  the  credulity  of  the  old  ladies  might  be 
difficult  to  say;  yet  they  seem  fully  persuaded  that 
the  present  Francis  Moore  has  also  a  seventh  son, 
who,  though  but  young,  is  now  studying  both  phy^ 
sic  and  astrology  in  the  town  of  Utopia,  in  the 
north  of  Ireland;  and  tliey  have  no  doubt  but  that 
he  is  born  to  possess  so  supreme  a  degree  of  know- 
ledge, by  investigating  the  Configurations  of  the 
stars,  that  he  will  be  able  to  read  the  history  of  all 
future  events  beforehand,  both  private  and  publicj 
as  plainly  as  he  can  now  read  his  A,  B,  C;  and  that 
he  will  as  far  outsliine  those  great  luminaries, 
Count  Swedenburgh,  Mr.  Brothers,  and  some  other 
prophesiers  on  our  late  public  events,  as  the  vast 
knowledge  of  a  Newton  outshines  the  intellectual 
powers  of  a  goose.* 

*  Nothing  can  equal  the  sad  disaster  that  miist  have  a(« 
tended  the  prognostications  of  this  famous  astrologer  in  the 
esteem  of  hie  admirers,  in  his  politieal  predictions  on  tho 


172  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Mrs.  Mary,  it  seems,  some  years  ago,  in  one  of 
her  superstitious  fits,  and  wishing  for  some  fore- 
sight as  it  respected  herself,  sent  a  guinea  to  the 
astrologer  that  he  might  cast  her  nativity;  and  the 
prognostication  was,  that  she  was  to  be  married  to 
a  surgeon.  Through  this  unfortunate  circumstance, 
she  set  her  Cap  at  every  surgeon  and  apothecary 
for  miles  round  the  neighbourhood.  She  once  went 
so  far  as  to  feign  herself  sick,  that  she  might  have 
an  excuse  to  send  for  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
faculty:  and  though  she  gave  him  to  understand  how 
matters  had  been  predicted  respecting  her  future  life; 
yet,  alas!  such  was  the  Doctor's  incredulity,  that  not- 
withstanding the  prognostication,  he  could  not  be- 
lieve that  he  was  to  be  the  man. 

No  one  can  wonder  that  these  ladies,  who  are  so 
fond  of  hearing  and  telling  "Old  wives' fables,'^ 
and  of  attending  to  such  absurdities,  should  also 
give  way  to  all  sort  of  fears  and  apprehensions  arising 
from  other  causes  the  most  superstitious  and  ab- 
surd. Hence  it  is  that  they  are  kept  in  perpetual 
alarm;  at  one  time  by  the  death-watch,  at  another 
time  by  the  croaking  of  a  raven,  or  the  screeching 
of  an  owl;  then  again  by  Ihe  winding-sheet  in  the 
candle,  and  a  variety  of  such  other  absurdities;  as 
though  the  all-wise  God  had  given  a  commission  to 
spiders,*  owls,  and  ravens,  and  even  to  tallow  can- 
dles, to  instruct  mankind  in  the  knowledge  of  differ- 
ent future  events. 

last  two  years.  On  the  year  1802,  the  predictions  were  all 
for  bloodshed  and  war;  and  when  war  returned,  for  1803,  all 
his  prophecies  ran  in  favour  of  peace.  In  some  former  edi- 
tions, these  prophecies  were  presented  to  the  reader  more  at 
large;  but  a  page  filled  with  such  silly  prognpstications  would 
as  soon  get  out  of  date  as  the  almanacks  themselves. 

*  Some  naturalists  are  of  opinion  that  the  death-watch 
is  not  the  spider,  but  another  much  stnaller  insect,  found  in 
the  wood  of  old  houses. 


DIALOGUE  XI.  173 

This  unfortunate  turrt  of  mind,  however,  had 
once  proved  nearly  fatal,  not  only  to  the  comfort, 
but  the  very  life  of  Madam  Vixen.  She  heard, 
three  or  four  times,  her  chamber-bell  ring,  as  it  was 
supposed,  of  its  own  accord.  This  brought  to  her 
recollection  the  story  of  her  grandmother's  death, 
which  was  foretold  by  some  such  event  three  weeks 
before  the  time.  She  therefore  positively  concluded 
that  within  that  period  she  was  to  depart.  This  so 
worked  upon  her  imagination  as  to  bring  on  a  serious 
illness.  The  apothecary  was  sent  for  only  out  of 
form,  as  she  concluded  it  could  be  of  no  avail;  the 
lawyer  attended  to  alter  and  finish  her  will;  and  the 
poor  clergyman,  though  as  ill-liked  as  the  rest  of  his 
brethren,  was  sent  for  to  prepare  her  for  her  change, 
and  to  fit  her  for  the  final  reception  of  the  holy  sac- 
rament; which  it  was  her  design  to  have  received  a 
day  or  two  before  her  departure,  which  seemed  for 
awhile  more  fully  confirmed  by  another  event  dread- 
fully similar  to  the  former.  Madam  Vixen  and  her 
nurse  one  night  evidently  heard  a  bell  ring,  as 
though  it  had  been  from  under  the  ground;  but  the 
fears  excited  on  this  account  were  soon  dispersed,  as 
it  was  only  a  piece  of  Mrs.  Mary's  prudent  attention, 
who  muffled  the  hammer  of  the  bell  belonging  to  the 
clock,  as  its  shrill-sounding  noise  was  found  offen- 
sive  to  Mrs.  Vixen:   and    a  little  while  after  this 

Then  tell  all  your  grannies  it  is  a  wood  worm, 
That  lies  in  old  wood  like  a  hare  in  her  form; 
With  teeth  or  with  claws  it  will  bite  or  will  scratch, 
And  chamber-maids  christen  this  worm  a  death-watch; 
Because  like  a  watch,  it  always  cries  click, 
Then  wo  be  to  those  in  the  house  who  are  sick; 
For  sure  as  a  gun  they  will  give  up  the  ghost, 
If  the  maggot  cries  click,  when  it  scratches  the  post; 
As  soon  as  they  hear  it,  it  shortens  their  breath, 
And  they  speedily  die — because  f^ighten'd  to  death-, 
vol/,  I. — 16 


174  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 


the  whole  of  this  supposed  melancholy  event  dis- 
closed itself:  for  one  night,  while  the  nurse  was 
sitting  up,  hearkening  after  death-watches,  screech- 
owls,  &c.,  and  feeding  upon  these  strange  fears,  the 
kitten  stole  into  the  room,  (for  both  the  old  ladies 
are  very  fond  of  cats)  and  after  the  manner  of  that 
frisky  generation,  Puss  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  old 
plaything,  the  tassel  of  the  bell,  and  consequently 
gave  it  a  handsome  ring.  Mrs.  Vixen  takes  the 
alarm,  and  asks  if  the  bell  did  not  again  ring  of  itself? 
The    nurse    bursts    out    with    laughing,   and   adds, 

"Why,  madam,  it  is  nothing  but  the  cat  playing 

with  the  bell-tassel,  and  I  dare  say  this  was  the  rea- 
son why  it  rang  before.'^  However,  the  ringing  of 
the  bell  brought  Mrs.  Mary  into  the  room,  who, 
when  she  heard  of  the  event,  joined  with  the  nurse 
in  a  laugh  on  the  occasion;  while  Mrs.  Vixen  im- 
mediately took  heart,  and  consequently  began  di- 
rectly to  recover.  The  nurse  told  the  apothecary 
on  his  next  day's  visit,  that  the  cat  had  done  more 
for  her  mistress's  recovery,  by  ringing  the  bell,  than 
he  could  do  with  all  the  drugs  in  his  shop.  She 
then  told  him  the  whole  of  the  story,  which  before 
was  known  only  to  the  family.  A  message  also  was 
soon  afterwards  sent  to  the  minister,  that  he  might 
be  informed  a  repetition  of  his  visits  would  not  be 
needed;  and  the  lady  herself  soon  recovered,  on 
the  removal  of  the  causes  of  her  disease. 

The  reader  may  suppose  that  he  would  not  have 
been  presented  with  a  detail  of  these  little  events, 
had  it  not  been  with  a  design  to  expose  the  folly  of 
those  superstitious  fears  which  are  so  very  injurious 
to  the  minds  of  all  who  have  not  sufficient  sense 
and  resolution  to  resist  them.  Where  there  is  but 
little  real  religion,  the  want  of  it  is  too  frequently 
supplied  by  an  abundance  of  superstition.     The  hu- 


DIALOGUE  XI.  175 

man  mind  is  prone  to  run  into  extremes  on  every 
occasion:  some  are  for  believing  too  much,  others 
for  believing  too  little.  Happy  are  they  who,  being 
blessed  with  "that  wisdom  which  is  from  above,^' 
are  preserved  in  the  middle  path,  and  saved  from 
every  extreme. 

But  to  return  from  this  digression.  Mrs.  Steady- 
man  was  in  some  respects  of  a  better  mind  than  her 
sister:  she  was  of  a  more  conversable  and  friendly 
disposition,  which  she  could  exercise  pretty  freely 
among  her  neighbours,  though  but  very  sparingly 
to  her  husband;  who  originally  being  but  a  poor, 
though  very  industrious  apprentice,  found  it  a  con- 
venient match.  Thus,  by  marrying  a  foTlune,  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  married  to  one  who  con- 
ceived she  had  a  right  to  "dictate  and  usurp  au- 
thority over  the  husband,"*  or,  according  to  the 
delicate  style  of  the  da)-,  to  wear  the  small  clothes. 
This,  in  point  of  civility,  was  to  be  submitted  to, 
at  least  during  the  honey-moon;  but,  to  the  sad  dis- 
comfiture of  Mr.  Steadyman,  she  had  contrived  to 
wear  them  from  that  time  to  this. 

Notwithstanding  some  little  offence  had  been  given 
to  Mr.  Steadyman's  family  by  the  farmer  having 
shown  a  dislike,  (they  being  on  a  visit  soon  after 
he  became  serious,)  to  the  introduction  of  cards 
and  such  sort  of  innocent  amusements,^  they  felt 
themselves  under  the  obligation,  from  their  family 
connexion,  to  repeat  their  visit  upon  their  nephew^ 
Henry's  unexpected  return,  and    it  was  about  ten 

*  Such  should  have  been  the  correct  translation  of  Ti- 
mothy, ch.  vi.,  and  if  any  good  woman  of  the  same  temper 
with  Mrs.  Steadyman  should  doubt  the  justice  of  my  criti- 
cism, T  readily  refer  them  to  others  who  understand  Greek 
better  than  myself. 

I  See  Dialogue  the  IVth. 


lis  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

days  after  Mr.  Worthy's  visit  to   Gracehill  Farm, 
that  this  interview  took  place. 

On  the  Saturday  evening  they  arrived;  as  Mr. 
Steadyman  could  on  the  Sunday  be  best  spared  from 
his  business.  The  author  is  not  acquainted  with  the 
conversation,  as  it  passed  at  supper;  but  what  after- 
wards took  place,  when  the  table  was  cleared,  he  has 
collected  to  the  best  of  his  power. 

[Thomas  J^ewman  is  introduced.] 

Thomas.  Sir,  you  was  saying  you  might  like 
to  take  the  covered  cart  to  Brookfield  Church  to- 
morrow, as  the  weather  is  inclining  to  be  wet;  if 
so,  1  should  be  glad  to  get  things  ready  before  I  go 
home. 

Farmer.  I  cannot  tell  as  yet,  Thomas.  (To  Mrs. 
Steadyman.)  Sister,  would  you  like  to  go  with  us 
to  Brookfield  church?  It  is  hardly  two  miles  from 
our  house,  and  Mr.  Lovegood  is  a  charming  man. 

Mrs.  Steadyman.  0  no,  brother,  I  did  not  come 
here  to  change  my  religion;  wherever  I  go,  I  al=. 
ways  think  it  best  to  keep  to  the  parish  church.  I 
shall  go  with  sister  Littleworth  to  Mapleton,  to  hear 
Mr.  Dolittle. 

Mr.  Steadyman.  Well,  brother  Littleworth,  I'll 
go  with  you,  for  I  cannot  see  that  your  notions  of 
religion  have  done  you  any  harm;  and  I  must  con- 
fess my  nephew  Henry  is  wonderfully  reformed; 
but  you  need  not  have  the  cart  for  me,  I  had  rather 
walk. 

Miss  Polly.  If  my  aunt  Steadyman  won't  go,  I 
am  sure  Patty  and  I  sha'n't.  1  have  no  notion  to  go 
and  be  crowded,  and  pushed  about  at  that  church, 
when  we  can  sit  so  comfortably  at  our  own. 

Miss  JSTancy.  I  don't  see,  father,  that  you  need  to 
have  the  cart,  if  my  aunt  won't  go;  you  and  bro- 
ther Harry  may  ride  as  usual,  and  I  can  walk  with 


DIALOGUE  XI.  177 

my  uncle,  and  show  him  the  nearest  way  over  the 
lieJds. 

Hen.  Well,  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  my  aunt 
would  but  for  once  come  with  uncle:  who  knoAvs 
what  a  blessing  might  attend  il! 

Mrs.  Steady.  There, — that  was  the  way  of  talk 
last  time  we  were  here,  as  though  nobody  had  any 
religion,  unless  they  were  all  of  one  way  of  think- 
ing. 

Far.  Well,  then,  Thomas,  we  won't  have  the  cart 
unless  it  should  rain.  Harry  and  1  shall  ride  as  usual, 
and  Nancy  and  brother  will  walk.  But  have  you 
had  your  supper? 

Tho.  Yes,  sir;  my  mistress  has  been  in  the  pantry, 
and  cut  me  off  a  great  heaped  plate-full  of  victuals  to 
take  home  with  me.  It  will  make  a  rare  feast  for 
Betty  and  the  children,  with  a  few  boiled  potatoes. 
(To  Mrs.  LiUleworlh.)  Thank  you,  madam,  a  thou- 
sand times,      {Thomas  retires.) 

Mrs.  LUtleworth.  {To  Mr.  Steadyman.)  I  am  not 
so  much  against  my  husband's  religion  as  I  was,  for  it 
has  made  that  poor  man  an  excellent  servant;  and 
Henry  and  Nancy  are  good  children:  and  though  I 
don't  like  to  leave  my  parish  church,  yet  I  believe 
Mr.  Lovegood  is  a  very  good  man. 

Mr.  Steadyman.  Well,  and  about  six  miles  from 
our  town  there  is  a  Mr.  Meek,  who  serves  tw^o 
churches,  who  is  of  the  same  loay  of  thinking;  and 
oftentimes  have  I  heard  him  run  down;  but  for  what 
I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  be  because  he  is  a  better  man 
than  most  of  his  neighbours. 

Mrs.  Steadyman.  Why,  don't  you  know  that  his 
rector  threatened  to  turn  him  ofi"  his  curacies  the 
othei'  day,  because  so  many  people  come  out  of  other 
parishes  to  hear  him,  and  that  he  went  to  the  bishop 
about  him  ? 

Mr.  Steadyman.  Well,  and  much  good  he  got  by 
16^ 


178  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES.. 

that.  How  could  any  one  think  that  the  bishop  should 
turn  a  poor  man  off  his  curacies  for  having  a  full 
church.  I  am  sure,  if  the  bishop  was  to  turn  off  all 
the  parsons  that  have  empty  churches,  he  would  have 
enough  to  do. 

Far.  Ay  J  but,  brother,  you  have  only  got  hold  of 
half  the  story:  for  it  has  been  said  when  Rector  Fill- 
pot,  who  is  some  great  cathedral  man,  (and  every 
one  knows  he  loves  his  bottle  better  thaa  his  Bible,) 
went  to  the  bishop  to  make  it  out  as  though  his  cu- 
rate did  wrong  to  have  such  a  full  church,  he  di- 
rectly said  he  was  heartily  glad  of  it,  and  wished  that 
every  other  parson's  church  was  as  full.  And  when 
Rector  Fillpot  asked  my  Lord  Bishop  what  must  be 
done  if  all  the  people  left  their  churches  to  go  after 
these  sort  of  preachers  ?  he  said  as  how  they  must 
out-live  and  out-preach  such  men  as  Mr.  Meek,  and 
that  was  the  way  to  bring  them  back  again.  Rector 
Fillpot  must  have  found  it  a  desperate  hard  thing  to 
quilt  all  that;  but,,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  this  was 
all  a  shim  sham  job;  for  the  rector  knows  he  never 
could  have  got  another  such  a  curate  in  his  own 
way,  to  serve  two  churches,  at  the  distance  of  be-- 
tween  three  and  four  miles  from  each  other,  and 
throughout  all  the  summer  months  to  serve  each  of 
these  churches  twice  a  day,  for  forty  pounds  a  year. 
Now  you  know,  brother,  I  am  a  farmer,  and  Mr. 
Meek  must  have  a  horse:  for  he  cannot  ride  through 
the  air  like  a  loitch  on  a  broomstick^  and  that  would 
cost  him,  to  buy  it  and  keep  it,  near  upon  twenty 
pounds  out  of  the  forty. 

Mr.  Steadym.  Poor  gentleman!  I  have  often  won- 
dered how  he  could  contrive  to  live  upon  so  little; 
and  he  generally  looks  more  decent  in  his  clothing 
than  one  would  expect;  but  he  is  much  beloved,  and 
I  am  told  that  many  of  his  neighbours  help  him 
out. 


DIALOGUE  XI.  179 

Far.  Ay,  and  so  they  need;  and  I  am  told  also 
that  our  'Squire  gave  him  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  from 
top  to  toe,  last  Christmas;  and  that  he  looked  as  well 
dressed  of  a  Sunday  as  the  rector  himself,  though  he 
never  could  look  so  plump.  According  to  his  way  of 
living,  I  wonder  hovv  he  does,  with  his  small  in- 
come, to  keep  body  and  soul  together;  but  it  is  a  burn- 
ing shame  that  other  people  should  keep  Rector  Fill- 
pot's  curate  for  him,  or  let  him  be  half  starved,  poor 
gentleman ! 

Mrs.  Stemlym.  I  dare  say  the  rector  would  give 
him  more  if  he  was  of  his  own  way  of  thinking;  but  he 
is  displeased  with  him  on  account  of  his  religion. 

Far.  Ah,  sister,  this  is  a  sorry  excuse.  You  make 
but  a  poor  hand  of  it,  in  lifting  the  lame  dog  over  the 
stile;  but,  to  my  mind,  that  man  has  found  out  the 
best  way  of  thinking,  who  has  found  out  the  best  way 
of  living.  Well,  well,  when  we  were  all  honoured 
to  drink  tea  at  our  'Squire's  the  other  day,  my  son 
Harry  gave  a  terrible  account  of  the  slave  trade; 
but  sure  I  am,  the  slave  trade  in  England  is  not  ended, 
when  such  a  man  as  Rector  Fillpot  can  have  so 
many  places  of  preferment  as  to  bring  him  in  twelve 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  while  his  poor  curate,  that 
he  had  quite  out  of  Wales,  (for  that  he  might  come 
cheap,)  should  be  worked  so  hard,  and  have  not 
much  more  to  feed  himself  than  what  he  wants  to 
feed  his  horse,  which  he  must  have  to  take  him 
from  church  to  church.  And  poor  Mr.  Meek  now 
begins  to  be  an  old  man.  I  am  afraid  these  fat 
rectors  don't  love  their  curates  half  so  well  as  I  do 
my  old  horses. 

Sleadym.  Indeed,  brother,  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  see 
those  who  are  our  teachers  acting  in  such  a  manner. 
We  always  mind  more  what  a  man  does,  than  what  a 
man  says;  and  as  to  Kector  Fillpot,  we  never  hear  of 
his  coming^  into   our  parts   but  about  Easter,  and 


ISO  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

then  every  body  trembles  lest  he  should  come  fo 
screw  up  his  tithes  still  higher  than  he  has  done  al- 
ready; and  all  that  he  does  for  it,  perhaps,  is  to  preach 
one  sermon  in  each  of  his  churches,  and  then  they 
are  sure  to  see  no  more  of  him  till  that  time  twelve 
months.  But  it  seems  they  talk  about  making  all 
these  rectors  reside  on  their  own  livings;  yet  I  can't 
see  what  good  can  come  of  that;  for  till  they  send 
us  better  men,  the  more  we  know  of  this  sort  of 
ministers,  the  less  we  shall  like  them. 

Far.  Yes;  and  when  he  comes  into  these  parts, 
he  always  visits  our  rector,  and  gives  us  a  sermon. 
In  the  days  of  my  ignorance,  how  I  used  to  admire 
him!  The  last  time  he  preached,  it  seems,  he  made 
a  main  hustle  about  the  church,  and  fell  aboard  some 
parsons,  (I'll  warrant  he  was  throwing  some  scalers 
at  Mr.  Lovegood,)  who  wanted  to  make  themselves 
popular  by  being  neglectful  about  their  tithes;  and 
that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  clergy  to  see  after  the 
^moliments  of  the  church,  (I  think  he  called  them,) 
and  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  people  to  pay  the 
parsons  what  they  called  their  dues.  Well,  well;  if 
such  a  sort  of  religion  will  take  a  man  to  heaven,  I 
am  sure  Rector  Fillpot  will  sit  far  above  St.  Paul; 
for  every  body  knows,  if  he  be  neglectful  of  his  Jiock, 
he  is  eager  enough  after  the  fleece;  and  they  say,  of 
late  he  is  got  so  fat  that  he  can  scarcely  squeeze  him- 
self into  the  pulpit,  because  of  his  big  belly,  and  his 
poor  curate  so  thin,  that  he  could  almost  creep  into  a 
mouse  hole. 

Jllrs.  Littlew.  Ay,  Mr.  Littleworth,  I  remember 
what  you  say  is  very  true.  I  was  there  to  hear  him, 
and  I  thought  he  had  better  been  upon  something 
else. 

Far.  Why,  if  such  men  as  Rector  Fillpot  are  to 
go  to  heaven,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  Demas, 
who  loved  this  present  evil  world,  should  ever  have 


piALoauE  xi;.  181 

been  sent  to  hell.  Why  they  think  we  countrified 
plain  folk  are  so  ignorant,  as  that  we  don't  know  a 
good  man  from  a  bad  one.  But,  dame,  can  you  re-- 
member  what  was  the  text? 

Mrs,  Littleic.  I  remember  it  was  a  very  short  one; 
**The  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire," 

Far.  Why,  then,  according  to  that  doctrine,  the 
curate  who  did  all  the  labour,  should  have  all  that 
the  rector  gets,  and  the  rector  all  the  curate  gets;  and 
I'll  warrant  this  would  soon  bring  down  his  fat  belly 
for  him. 

Hen.  Well,  well,  I  must  confess  nothing  hardened 
me  in  my  wickedness  like  the  conduct  of  such  mi- 
nisters. When  1  was  going  on  in  the  most  vile  ways, 
and  with  the  most  wicked  company,  we  could  laugh 
at  all  religion,  because  it  was  preached  by  such  sort 
of  ministers  as  we  knew  had  no  more  of  it  than  our- 
selves. 

Steadym.  Indeed,  Henry,  I  am  as  much  ashamed 
of  such  men  as  you  can  be.  If  I  had  known  Mr. 
Meek  had  been  so  good  a  man,  I  should  have  been 
glad  now  and  then  to  help  him  out. 

Mrs.  Steadijm.  I  sha'n't  like  that,  Nathaniel,  with- 
out your  letting  me  know  it.  I  am  afraid  you'll 
soon  be  of  brother's  religion,  and  I  sha'n't  like  that 
neither.  I  have  no  notion  of  chopping  and  changing 
about  one's  religion  in  this  manner.  You  know  that 
Mr.  Dulman,  our  minister,  when  he  thought  you 
seemed  that  way  inclined,  and  when  he  heard  you 
was  coming  to  see  brother,  c^me  on  purpose  to  ad- 
vise you  against  all  these  new  notions;  for  if  we  are 
all  wrong  now,  what:  is  become  of  our  fathers  and 
grandfathers,  who  went  on  in  the  same  way  as  our- 
selves? But  I  don't  see  what  business  we  have  to 
find  fault  with  the  clergy. 

Far.   Well,  well,   sister,  I  shall   never   think  of 
trusting  the  concerns  of  my  precious  soul  to  that 


182  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

man  who  takes  no  care  of  his  own;  but  no  man  living, 
for  twenty  miles  round,  can  love  and  honour  those  of 
the  clergy  whose  lives  properly  square  with  their 
doctrines  more  than  1  do;  but  while  we  hear  both  in 
the  Old  Testament  and  the  New,  how  the  Lord  de- 
clared his  wrath  against  all  the  false  prophets,  and 
scribes,  and  pharisees,  though  we  should  pity  and 
pray  for  them,  yet  I  am  sure  we  do  wrong  to  be 
their  followers.  You  know  if  the  blind  lead  the 
blind,  we  shall  all  fall  into  the  ditch  together.  But, 
brother,  would  you  not  like  to  have  another  glass  of 
ale?  l^To  his  wife.l  Dame,  pour  out  sister  another 
glass  of  currant  wine  before  we  put  away  the  things, 
and  then  fetch  the  Bible,  and  let  us  go  to  prayer;  it 
is  best  not  to  sit  too  long  by  the  drink. 

•Mrs.  Steadynin  But,  brother,  mayn't  we  go  up 
stairs  and  pray  to  ourselves,  if  we  like  that  best? 

tMr.  Steadym.  It  is  not  so  late  but  that  we  can  stop 
a  little  while  longer.  [Mrs.  Steadyman  subtnits.]  The 
marked  Bible  is  placed  before  the  Farmer,  who  read 
the  first  part  of  our  Lord's  sermon  upon  the  mount, 
Matthew  v.,  and  then  said  what  good  minds  feel, 
and  are  naturally  inclined  to  say,  of  the  blessed  state 
of  those  real  Christians  our  I^ord  describes  as  thus 
blessed  in  him.  And  as  it  was  the  custom  of  the  fa- 
mil)-,  that  when  Henry  read,  the  Farmer  prayed, 
and  when  the  Farmer  read,  Henry  prayed,  so  Henry 
offered  up  a  very  suitable  and  affecting  prayer.  This 
so  immediately  attracted  Mrs.  Steadyman's  notice, 
that  she  was  not  a  little  surprised  how  well  he  could 
rememt^er  to  say  his  prayers  without  book,  and 
begged  to  know  where  the  book  was  to  be  bought, 
out  of  which  he  had  learnt  his  prayers.  The  Farmer 
made  answer,  that  the  prayers  were  written  upon  his 
son's  heart  by  the  pen  of  Doctor  Experience.  The 
family  wished  to  retire,  which  prevented  all  farther 
inquiries  about  Doctor  Experience,  though  the  com- 


Dialogue  xi.  183 

mon  guest  of  every  humble  praying  sinner's  heart. 
The  writer  also,  at  a  late  hour  in  the  evening,  begins 
to  find  his  own  mind  flag,  and  therefore  wishes  to 
conclude  the  present  dialogue,  that  he  may  under- 
take another  upon  a  more  profitable  and  interesting 
subject,  which  took  place  on  the  Sunday  evening  after 
the  family's  return  from  Brookfield  church. 


DIALOGUE  XII 


BETWEEN  THE   FAMILY    OF   THE    LITTLE - 
WORTHS  AND  MR.  AND  MRS.  STEADYMAN. 


A  SUNDAY  evening's  CONVERSATION  UPON  THE  MERCIES 
OF  GOD  IN  THE  JUSTIFICATION  AND  SANCTIFICATION  OF 
THE  UNGODLY. 

The  Farmer,  Henry,  and  Nancy,  with  Mr.  Steady- 
man,  not  having  sufficient  time  to  return  home  be- 
tween the  services,  carried  their  provision  with  them 
into  Thomas  Newman's  house,  and  there  partook  of 
it.  After  the  second  service,  they  returned,  and  sup- 
per being  ended,  the  following  conversation  took 
place: 

Sieadyman.  Well,  sister  Littleworth,  I  never  spent 
such  a  Sunday  as  this  before.  [To  his  wife.']  Mis- 
tress, I  wish  you  had  been  with  us.  I  never  saw  such 
a  serious  and  devout  congregation,  and  never  heard 
such  a  sermon  since  I  was  born.  And  then  we  ate 
our  dinners  at  Thomas  Newman's  house,  the  poor 
man  that  works  for  my  brother.  What  a  good  man 
he  is!  and  what  a  charming  famil}'-  he  has  got!  I 
counted  seven  of  them,  and  I  think  his  wife  is  near 
her  time  again;*  and  what  a  wonderful  prayer  he 

*  It  is  now  upwards  of  three  years  since  the  farmer  became 
serious.  This  accounts  for  the  addition  of  another  child  since 
that  period,  (see  Dialogue  I.,)  and  explains  at  the  same  time 
an  odd  report  how  the  Farmer  was  overheard  "talking to  th6 
devil  behind  the  hedge."  The  fact  was,  the  Farmer  hearing 
that  Thomas's  wife  had  produced  another  child,  went  to  their 


DIALOGUE  XII.  185 

made  before  we  all  went  again  to  church.  We  do 
not  serve  God  in  our  parts  any  thing  like  as  they  do 
here.  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  religion  as  I  have 
seen  it  this  day. 

Mrs.  Steadym.  Why,  Nathaniel,  what  can  possess 
you  to  talk  about  religion  in  this  manner?  Well,  if 
I  did  not  always  suspect  what  would  become  of  this 
visit,  as  well  as  Mr.  Dulman. 

J\Irs.  Littlew.  I  let  my  husband  go  his  way,  and  I 
go  mine;  and  I  find  I  am  quite  as  happy  since  he 
has  taken  to  religion  as  ever  we  were  before. 

Steadym.  Well,  never  did  I  hear  any  minister  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  lay  open  the  Bible  in  a 
manner  like  him.  I  am  sure  I  should  never  stay  at 
home  if  I  could  hear  at  Ruckford  a  minister  like 
IVIr.  Lovegood.  If  1  can,  I  think  I  shall  go  to  hear 
poor  Mr.  Meek,  the  Welshman,  for  he  is  supposed 
to  be  the  most  like  him  of  any  man  in  our  parts. 
But  0  how  he  explained,  as  he  called  it,  the  way  of 
salvation  for  ruined  sinners  by  Jesus  Christ !  Though 
I  have  read  so  much  of  it  in  the  Bible,  and  have 
heard  so  much  about  it,  yet  I  wonder  at  myself, 
how  1  could  be  so  ignorant  what  these  things  could 
mean. 

Hen.  Why,  to  be  sure,  he  preached  us  tvvo  ex- 
cellent sermons,  but  to  me  it  appears  as  though  every 
sermon  he  preached  was  better  and  better.  O  what 
a  blessing  we  have  in   that  most  dear  man  of  God! 

house,  and  gave  the  family  half  a  crown.  On  his  return  he 
was  overheard  grumbling  and  muttering  against  himself  for 
his  covetousnesS)  declaring  that  the  devil  his  old  master  should 
not  have  his  ends.  He  therefore  returned  directly  to  Tho^ 
mas's  house,  and  said,  "  Thomas,  this  won't  do,  I  must  have 
my  half  crown  again."  Thomas,  not  a  little  surprised  at  this 
unexpected  demand,  restored  the  gift,  and  the  farmer  put  a 
seven  shilling  piece  in  the  room  of  it,  and  it  was  in  this  way 
the  farmer  conversed  with  the  devil  behind  the  hedge. 
VOL.  I.  — 17 


186  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

and  what  a  mercy  it  would  be,  if  in  every  parish 
there  were  such  ministers  to  instruct  the  ignorant. 
It  is  his  very  heart's  delight  to  go  about  doing  good 
to  the  souls  of  his  people. 

Steadym.  I  must  confess,  when  I  heard  him  in 
the  desk,  I  liked  him  wonderfdlly,  but  in  the  pul- 
pit, what  a  man  he  is!  and  with  what  love  and  af- 
fection he  preaches!  his  heart  seems  to  feel  every 
word  he  says.  But  I  rather  wondered  at  his  text, 
"  By  the  law  is  the  knowledge  of  sin."  How  wisely 
he  explained  it!  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  a 
text  in  all  the  Bible. 

Hen.  And  did  you  not  admire  how  he  set  forth 
the  purity  and  holiness  of  God,  both  in  his  nature 
and  in  his  law?  That  as  he  was.  infinitely  holy  in 
himself,  so  he  must  hate  sin,  whether  committed  by 
apostate  men  or  angels,  in  an  infinite  degree;  that 
we  had  not  only  to  consider  our  outward  actions  be- 
fore man,  but  the  state  of  our  hearts  inwardly  be- 
fore God;  that  it  was  said,  "Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,  for  they,"  and  they  only,  "shall  see  God." 

Steadym.  Why,  I  had  always  understood  that  if 
we  were  but  just  and  honest  before  man,  it  was  quite 
enough.  How  well  he  explained  that  text,  "Enter 
not  into  judgment  with  thy  servant,  O  Lord,  for  in  thy 
sight  shall  no  flesh  living  be  justified!"  that  though 
we  might  be  justified  by  our  actions  in  the  sight  of 
man,  yet  that  none  of  us  could  be  justified  in  the 
sight  of  God,  as  his  holy  nature  abhorred  the  inward 
sinfulness  of  our  hearts. 

Far.  Ah,  dear  brother,  how  glad  I  am  to  hear 
you  talk  after  (his  fashion!  Because  I  did  not  de- 
serve to  stand  before  the  justice  for  my  wicked 
deeds,  I  thought  I  had  righteousness  enough  to 
stand  before  the  Lord  himself.  How  could  I  sup- 
pose myself  a  Christian,  while  I  thought  no  more 
about  the  salvation   of  my  soul   by  Jesus  Christ, 


DIALOGUE  XII.  187 

than  the  dead  folk  do  in  our  church-yard  at  Ma- 
pleton? 

Hen.  But  while  he  pointed  out  the  nature  of  God, 
did  you  not  mind,  uncle,  how  he  explained  to  us  that 
every  wicked  sinner  in  a  state  of  enmity  against  God, 
lived  with  a  hell  in  his  own  heart,  while  he  was 
*' living  without  God  in  the  world?" 

tSleadym.  Yes.  And  I  remember  he  said,  that  every 
sinner  was  his  own  tormentor  by  his  wickedness. 

Hen.  I  suppose  you  mean  that  part  of  his  sermon 
in  which  he  was  proving  how  every  person  who  was 
tormented  with  anger,  malice,  or  revenge,  ^vas  a 
most  cruel  self-tormentor;  and  that  covetousness 
shut  up  a  man's  heart  not  only  against  all  mankind, 
but  against  himself,  and  that  therefore  he  was  a 
self-tormentor.  These,  he  said,  were  a  set  of  de- 
vilish  self-tormentors.  Then  he  talked  of  a  set  of 
beastly  self-tormentors;  and  all  that  he  said  against 
these  evil  ways  1  have  experienced  to  be  true,  most 
sadly  to  my  own  cost.  In  those  days  I  should  not 
have  cared  if  I  had  broken  my  father's  and  my  mo- 
ther's hearts,  if  I  could  but  have  got  their  property 
to  have  spent  it  in  my  wicked  projects.  \^Henry  is 
affected  and  iveeps;  the  Farmer  is  also  muck  af- 
fected, and  adds,'] 

Far.  See,  brother,  how  wonderfully  the  grace  of 
God  has  changed  the  heart  of  my  dear  child!  how 
different  he  is  now  to  what  he  was  before  he  went 
to  sea!  And  you  know  what  a  poor,  thoughtless, 
worldly-minded  sinner  1  was  before  1  took  to  go  and 
hear  Mr.  Lovegood. 

Sleadym.  Wh3^,  I  confess,  brother,  I  see  somethina; 
in  religion  that  1  never  thought  of  before,  and  all 
that  I  have  been  hearing  to-day  seems  to  me  to  be  so 
true,  that  there  is  no  disputing  against  it. 

Hen.  Yes,  uncle,  and  I  was  glad  for  your  sake 
that  you  were  there;  for  it  appeared  to  me  as  clear 


188  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

as  the  light,  what  Mr.  Lovegootl  said  of  the  law, 
that  it  was  the  revelation  of  the  mind  and  will  of 
an  infinitely  holy  God  among  all  his  creatures;  that 
therefore  the  least  sin,  in  the  least  degree,  must  put 
us  under  the  condemnation  of  that  law;  that  if  God 
could  in  any  measure  allow  sin,  or  look  over  it  upon 
account  of  our  corruption,  such  sinful  actions  would 
be  no  longer  unlawful  actions,  (and  what  a  contradic- 
tion that  would  be)  for  "  where  there  is  no  law  there 
is  no  transgression." 

Sleadym.  Indeed,  Mr.  Henry,  it  appears  to  me 
that  I  might  have  gone  all  the  days  of  my  life  to 
hear  Mr.  Dulman  at  Ruckford,  and  still  continued  as 
ignorant  of  the  law  as  if  I  had  been  a  downright 
heathen.  Nay,  as  for  my  part,  I  do  not  know  that 
I  ever  heard  any  thing  farther  about  the  law  than 
what  a  heathen  may  practise  quite  as  well  as  a  Chris- 
tian. At  one  time  we  are  told  we  must  not  get 
drunk;  then  that  we  must  not  curse  and  swear;  then 
that  we  should  pay  our  debts;  and  then  that  we 
must  come  to  church  and  keep  the  Sabbath.  Now  I 
had  never  any  inclination  to  do  otherwise  between 
man  and  man;  but  we  never  hear  any  thing  to  the 
purpose  how  the  heart  of  man  should  be  before  a 
pure  and  holy  God. 

jPar.  Ay,  and  just  in  the  same  way  Mr.  Dolittle 
used  to  '*  daub  me  over  with  his  untempered  mortar;" 
for  though  1  was  never  so  strict  and  moral,  as  you 
have  been,  brother  Steady  man,  yet  as  I  kept  pretty 
tight  to  my  church,  and  used  to  act  good-naturedly 
towards  my  neighbours,  and  as  our  parson  used  to 
say  of  me  when  he  used  to  hear  of  me  in  my  tipsy 
Jits,  I  had  a  good  heart  at  hotlom,  I  thought  if  I 
had  religion  enough  to  please  him,  I  need  not  con- 
cern myself  about  any  thing  farther;  especially  as  i 
thought  he  could  do  such  wonderful  things  for  me 
when  I  came  to  die,  by  the  assistance  of  the  holy 
sacrament  and  his  absolutiou. 


DIALOGUE  xir.  189 

Henry.  Ah!  but  uncle,  such  sort  of  notions  will 
never  make  out  what  Mr.  Lovegood  said  about  the 
law  from  the  word  of  God,  how  it  is  "  the  letter  that 
killeth,  and  the  ministration  of  death  and  of  condem- 
nation.'' If  the  law  required  nothing  but  outward 
sobriety  and  morality,  I  suppose  you  never  trans- 
gressed it;  and  then  the  Bible  is  not  true,  that  says 
'^we  have  all  sinned  and  come  short  of  the  glory  of 
God,"  and  that  consequentl}^  "judgment  is  passed 
upon  all  men  to  condemnation.'' 

Steadym.  Why,  I  have  no  more  a  desire  to  make 
myself  a  beast  by  getting  drunk,  than  I  have  a  desire 
to  go  and  lie  to-night  in  brother^s  hog-stye:  and  as 
for  outward  integrity  between  man  and  man,  I  thought 
myself  almost  to  be  a  little  god  upon  that  account; 
because  people  would  say  of  me,  that  they  would 
rather  trust  me  upon  my  word,  than  believe  many 
others  upon  their  oath.  But  I  did  not  quite  under- 
stand what  Mr.  I^ovegood  meant  by  the  law  being 
"the  ministration  of  death  and  of  condemnation." 

Henry.  Wh}^,  you  know,  when  any  one  commits 
a  capital  offence  by  transgressing  the  laws  of  his 
country,  then  the  law  administers  condemnation  and 
death  to  that  man;  and  when  he  is  given  over  to  the 
executioner  he  loses  his  life  by  the  letter  of  that  law, 
and  therefore  it  is  "the  letter  that  killeth."  Now, 
you  know,  uncle,  the  first  and  great  command  is,  that 
we  "should  love  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our 
hearts,  and  minds,  and  souls,  and  strength;"  but  our 
blinded  consciences  think  little  or  nothing  of  living 
in  the  perpetual  neglect  of  love  to  God;  while  we  are 
much  more  alarmed,  if  we  neglect  those  rules  of  mo- 
rality we  ought  always  to  observe  between  man  and 
man.  Ifiius  we  live  in  entire  neglect  to  the  duties 
of  the  first  table,  that  tell  us  what  we  should  be  be- 
fore God,  and  think  that  all  will  be  well  if  we  keep 
up  a  little  outward  decency  in  attending  to  the  duties 
17* 


190  VILLAGE  DlALOGtTES. 

of  the  second  table,  which  direct  us  how  to  act  among 
our  neighbours, 

Steadym.  But  how  Mr.  Lovegood  talked  about 
the  spirituality  of  the  law,  and  what  a  holy  frame  of 
mind  was  needed  before  ever  we  could  love  God, 
and  that  we  could  practise  nothing  that  was  truly 
good  before  God  unless  we  loved  him.  That  it  was 
impossible  that  any  man  could  repent  of  sin  till  he 
hated  it,  and  that  sin  never  was  hated  till  God  was 
loved:  and  how  plainly  he  made  it  out,  that  without 
this  love  to  God  we  could  never  pray  aright,  believe 
aright,  or  do  any  thing  aright. 

Far.  Ah,  brother  Steadyman,  and  so  I  found  it 
with  me  directly  as  I  took  to  go  to  Brookfield  church; 
for  though  I  had  much  more  reason  than  ever  you 
had  to  find  fault  with  the  outward  wickedness  of  my 
actions,  yet  I  now  felt  the  worst  of  the  evil  lay  in 
the  inward  wickedness  of  my  heart;  that  as  1  knew 
nothing  what  it  was  to  love  God,  so  I  had  no  heart 
nor  inclination  to  do  any  thing  that  was  good  in  his 
sight.  Never  till  then  could  I  say  with  Job,  though 
so  much  more  holy  than  any  of  us,  "  Behold,  1  am 
vile!''  0  what  strange  foolish  creatures  we  must 
have  been,  in  the  midst  of  our  wickedness  to  think 
that  we  were  righteous,  when  God's  word  so  plainly 
says,  "There  are  none  righteous,  no  not  one." 

Miss  J^ancy.  Well,  as  for  my  part,  I  never  thought 
whether^  my  heart  was  either  good  or  bad,  or  any 
thing  about  it,  only  I  thought  it  was  wrong  to  oppose 
people  because  they  were  desirous  to  be  better  than 
myself;  but  I  never  saw  what  a  state  I  was  in  till  I 
heard  Mr.  Lovegood  preach  upon  that  text  out  of  the 
Lord's  prayer,  "Thy  will  be  done,"  and  then  I  saw, 
as  he  explained  it,  I  never  did  the  will  of  the  Lord 
in  all  my  life-time,  and  that  I  never  could  do  it  so  as 
to  please  God,  till  I  had  a  new  heart. 


DIALOGUE  XII.  191 

Steadym.  A  new  heart !  ay,  I  heard  Mr.  Lovegood 
make  use  of  that  expression. 

Hen.  Yes,  and  can't  you  remember  what  he  said, 
how  that  God  never  wrote  his  holy  law  but  upon  the 
tables  of  a  new  heart;  and  that  every  sinner  without 
a  new  heart  was  in  a  condemned  and  ruined  state; 
and  that  all  we  did  in  such  a  state  was  sin,  because 
done  from  a  sinful  principle  ?* 

Steadym.  Well,  till  this  day  I  always  thought  1 
had  as  good  a  chance  for  heaven  as  any  of  my  neigh' 
hours,  but  1  never  considered  the  state  of  my  heart 
before  God. 

Far.  Ah,  brother,  there  is  the  gripe.  When  we 
think  of  our  actions  before  man  only,  though  now  and 
then  we  get  ourselves  daubed  and  dirtied,  yet  we 
suppose  by  a  little  of  the  white-wash  of  morality  we 
can  soon  cover  all  this.  But  when  we  look  at  the 
state  of  our  hearts,  how  can  we  think  of  justifying 
ourselves  before  him? 

Steadym.  Well,  I  shall  never  think  I  shall  be  able 
to  justify  myself  before  God  any  more.  What  the 
publican  said  I  must  say,  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner!" 

Hen.  How  heartily  glad  I  am,  uncle,  that  you  now 
understand  it.  '^  By  the  law,"  or  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  law,  "  is  the  knowledge  of  sin;"  for  this  is  the 
only  way  we  can  come  by  the  knowledge  of  the  glo- 
rious doctrine  of  salvation  by  Christ  alone.  And  how 
wonderfully  well  our  minister  preached  upon  that 
subject  in  the  afternoon. 

J\Irs.  LHllew.  Wliy,  Patty,  child, how  you  sit  yawn- 
ing!    What,  are  you  going  to  sleep? 

Miss  Patty.  Why,  is  not  going  to  church  once  or 
twice  a  Sunday  religion  enough  for  any  body,  with- 
out having  so  much  of  it  over  and  over  again  after 
supper? 

*  See  Article  the  Xlllth,— Of  Works  before  Justification. 


192  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

3Irs.  Litllew.  Well,  well,  if  you  and  Polly  don't 
love  to  hear  any  more  talk  about  these  matters,  you 
had  better  put  away  the  things  into  the  pantry,  for 
we  have  all  done  supper.  (To  the  Farmer.)  Mr.  Lit- 
tleworth,  shall  you  want  any  more  drink? 

Far.  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Littleworth,  you  may  put  it  all 
away:  but  let  us  see  (The  Farmer  takes  out  his  watch,) 
it  is  not  above  five  minutes  after  nine  by  the  town- 
hall  clock  at  Mapleton;  and  if  our  poor  daughters 
don't  like  our  conversation,  yet  I  think  it  will  do 
brother  Steadyman,  and  none  of  us  any  harm,  if 
we  sit  up  a  little  longer  to  talk  about  the  good 
things  we  have  been  hearing  this  day  at  Brookfield 
church. 

Steadym.  I  admire  that  your  minister  takes  such 
different  texts  to  preach  from,  to  what  Mr.  Dulman, 
and  such  sort  of  ministers  choose  to  head  their  ser- 
mons with;  and  then  when  they  have  taken  their 
text,  we  hear  very  little  more  of  the  Bible,  but  only 
about  some  moral  duty  we  ought  to  perform,  and 
against  some  evil  practice  that  people  ought  to  avoid. 
I  never  heard  that  text  preached  upon  before,  which 
Mr.  Lovegood  took  this  afternoon,  "  that  God  might 
be  just,  and  yet  the  justifier  of  him  that  believeth  in 
Jesus,"  and  at  first  I  could  not  conceive  what  he  could 
make  of  it. 

Far.  Why  it  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  all  the 
Bible. 

Steadym.  So  I  thought  when  he  came  to  open  it; 
what  a  deal  of  pains  he  takes  to  make  the  people  un- 
derstand the  Bible. 

Far.  Whenever  he  has  shown  us  our  ruination  in 
ourselves,  he  is  sure  to  tell  us  of  our  redemption  in 
Christ. 

Steadym.  Well,  I  never  thought  of  any  Christ  till 
to-day,  but  my  own  good  works. 

Mrs.  Steadym.  Why,  Nathaniel,  and  what  can  you 


DIALOGUE  XII.  193 

have  better  than  good  works?  There  is  nothing  like 
theni;  I  am  sure;  don't  tell  me:  good  works  are  bet- 
ter than  all  the  faith  in  the  world.  1  am  afraid  I  shall 
be  plagued  to  death  by  your  new  notions  in  religion, 
and  1  shall  not  like  that;  and  if  you  take  to  go  after 
parson  Meek,  you  sha'n't  be  taking  him  a  pocketful 
of  money  every  time  you  go  there.  Don't  you  know- 
that  we  have  got  a  family? 

Mrs.  Liltlew.  Why,  sister,  I  used  to  be  very  cross 
with  my  husband  when  I  suspected  that  he  gave 
away  his  money  to  Mr.  Lovegood's  followers;  but, 
I  don't  know  how  it  is,  we  have  prospered  more  of 
late  than  ever. 

Far.  Ah,  sister,  we  have  all  enough  of  this  world; 
it  would  be  well  for  us  if  we  thought  a  little  more  of 
the  next:  but  I  remember  the  time  when  I  used  to 
keep  up  a  main  bustle  about  my  good  works,  but  it 
was  when  I  did  nothing  but  bad  ones.  Now  I  never 
thought  of  leading  a  new  life  till  after  God  had  given 
me  a  new  heart,  and  we  know  that  good  faith  will 
produce  good  fruits;  but  it  will  never  do  to  turn  re- 
ligion topsy  turvey. 

Hen.  Let  me  see;  I  think  I  put  down  something 
that  Mr.  Lovegood  said  this  day  on  that  subject,  {look- 
ing at  his  notes)  here  it  is,  he  brought  these  three  texts, 
"  Without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God."— 
'^  Faith  worketh  by  love." — "  Love  is  the  fulfilling 
of  the  law."  So  that  unless  we  are  rooted  and 
grounded  in  the  faith  of  the  gospel,  we  shall  never 
bring  forth  any  fruit  unto  God. 

Steadym.  Well,  well,  I  now  see  I  have  been  trust- 
ing upon  the  decency  of  a  heathen,  without  the  spi- 
rituality of  a  Christian.  0,  hrotlier,  what  shall  I  do 
to  be  saved? 

Far.  Why  did  you  not  hear  at  church  how  "God 
could  be  just,  while  he  was  the  justifier  of  him  that 
believeth  in  Jesus?"     Was  it  not  worth  while  to  go 


194  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

a  thousand  miles  to  hear  such  a  cliarming  sermon, 
and  so  much  of  the  precious  love  of  Christ  to  such 
perisliing  sinners? 

Sleadym.  I  was  so  much  affected  wliile  he  ex- 
plained to  us  the  love  of  Christ  in  d3'ing  for  our  re- 
demption, that  I  scarce  knew  where  1  was,  it  so  over- 
came me. 

Far.  Dear  brother,  how  thankful  I  am  that  ever 
you  came  with  us  this  day  to  Brookfield  church. 
How  this  brings  to  my  mind  when  Thomas  first  per- 
suaded me  to  go  there,  and  Mr.  Lovegood  was  then 
preaching  upon  these  words,  "  Ye  cannot  serve  God 
and  Mammon;"  and  a  trimming  sermon  it  was 
against  me,  and  all  my  wicked  ways,  and  desperate- 
ly alarmed  I  was;  but  when  he  preached  afterwards 
upon  that  text,  "  Christ  died,  the  just  for  the  unjust, 
that  he  might  bring  us  to  God;"  how  was  my  heart 
melted  down  under  that  sermon;  I  was  all  admira- 
tion how  Christ  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  save 
such  a  wicked  wretch;  and  when  poor  Thomas  saw 
me  so  affected,  for  till  then  I  never  dropped  a  tear 
about  the  state  of  my  soul  in  all  my  life,  he  quite 
cried  and  sobbed  (Farmer  drops  a  tear;)  but,  bro- 
ther, they  were  all  tears  of  joy,  because  he  thought 
the  Lord  was  then  saving  my  soul,  and  breaking  my 
hard  heart;  and  when  Mr.  Los'-egood  happened  to 
look  that  way,  and  see  what  a  state  we  were  all  in, 
he  was  as  much  affected  as  either  of  us.  How  he 
wept,  and  preached  about  the  precious  promises  of 
the  gospel!  He  was  so  overcome,  that  he  could 
hardly  go  on;  and  as  to  myself,  I  had  several  times 
almost  swoonded  away. 

Steadym.  Mr.  Lovegood  seemed  very  much  af- 
fected this  afternoon. 

Far.  I  dare  say  he  saw  you  affected;  and  it  is 
amazing  how  glad  at  heart  he  is  when  he  can  but  see 
such  poor  creatures  as  we  all  are  melted  down  under 


DIALOGUE  XII.  195 

a  sense  of  the  love  of  Christ  our  Saviour  to  such  vile 
sinners. 

Hen.  0,  father,  can't  you  remember  the  first  night 
I  came  home,  at  family  prayer,  how  we  were  all  af- 
fected while  he  mentioned  that  text,  what  "joy  there 
was  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth!"  What 
a  time  of  love  was  that  to  all  our  souls! 

J^ancy.  Why  Mr.  Lovegood  seemed  to  look  very 
much  our  way,  especially  when  he  was  explaining 
how  the  justice  of  God  was  glorified  in  the  death  of 
Christ,  that  the  mercy  of  God  might  be  also  glorified 
in  the  salvation  of  sinners. 

Steadijm.  W^hat  strange  conceptions  I  have  had 
about  these  things!  I  used  to  suppose  that  nothing 
was  required  by  Mr.  Lovegood 's  followers;  but  that 
if  they  had  faith  in  Christ,  no  matter  what  they  were, 
or  how  they  lived:  but  now  I  begin  to  see  if  Christ 
does  not  pardon  me  by  the  shedding  of  his  blood,  I 
never  can  be  pardoned;  and  that  my  heart  must  be 
changed,  or  I  shall  be  ruined  for  ever. 

Hen.  And  when  we  come  to  compare  not  only  our 
actions,  but  our  hearts  with  God's  law,  "  W^ho  shall 
stand  when  he  appeareth?"  But  this  does  not  remove 
our  obligations  to  obey  the  law;  and  it  is  from  a  sense 
of  our  obligations  to  obey  it,  because  it  is  in  itself 
holy,  just,  and  good,  that  we  are  made  to  be  ashamed 
that  we  have  so  transgressed  it. 

Far.  0  no,  brother;  we  can  never  "live  in  sin  that 
grace  may  abound;''  for  "  how  shall  we  who  are  dead 
unto  sin  live  any  longer  therein?" 

Steadijm.  Why  that  used  to  puzzle  me  when  1  saw 
you  and  Harry  and  others,  that  were  followers  of 
Mr.  Lovegood,  so  different  in  your  way  of  living  to 
what  you  were  before.  1  always  thought  it  very 
strange  that  such  bad  doctrines  should  teach  people 
to  live  better  lives.  Mr.  Dulman  came  on  purpose 
to  tell  us  a  day  or  two  before  we  came  here,  that 


196  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

all  the  people  about  these  parts  were  for  free  grace, 
that  they  might  live  as  they  list. 

Hen.  Much  he  understands  what  is  meant  by 
grace,  when  he  talks  in  that  manner;  for  the  Bible 
tells  us,  "  sin  shall  not  have  dominion  over  us,  for  we 
are  not  under  the  law,  but  under  grace;"  and  that 
"  the  grace  of  God,  which  bringeth  salvation,  teacheth 
us  to  deny  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  and  to  live 
soberly  and  righteously  and  godly  in  this  present 
world;''  for  that  we  now  "  reckon  ourselves  to  be 
dead  indeed  unto  sin,  but  alive  unto  God  through 
Jesus  Christ." 

Steadym.  But  I  remember  he  contradicted  himself 
the  same  evening,  by  saying,  he  had  no  notion  of  peo- 
ple being  so  over  strict  in  their  religion.  I  never 
went  much  by  Mr.  Dulman's  religion;  for  his  father 
meant  to  bring  him  up  to  the  law,  but  he  soon  found 
he  had  not  sense  enough  for  that,  and  therefore  said 
he  was  only  fit  for  a  parson;  but  I  am  sure  I  heard 
no  such  notions  about  grace  at  your  church,  and  from 
what  happened,  not  a  long  while  since,  he  seems  to 
me  to  have  no  idea  at  all  of  the  meaning  of  the  Bible; 
for  an  old  lady  who  was  supposed  to  have  some  very 
odd  notions  in  religion,  because  she  now  and  then 
used  to  attend  a  little  meeting  in  our  town,  left  him 
a  guinea  to  preach  a  funeral  sermon,  and  she  said 
what  was  to  be  the  text;  let  me  see — there  were 
some  such  words  in  it  as  these:  "  Not  having  on  my 
own  righteousness,  which  is  by  the  law."  I  recollect 
that  much  of  it;  but  I  remember  that  some  people 
in  our  town  supposed  there  was  no  such  text  in  all 
the  Bible.  Brother  Littleworth,  where  is  that  text? 
but  I  hope  I  shall  mind  my  Bible  more  than  I  have 
done. 

Far.  Harry,  my  child,  is  it  not  in  the  Philip- 
pians? 

Hen.  {Taking  out  his  pocket  Bible.)     Yes,  father, 


DIALOGUE  XII.  197 

it  is  in  the  3d  chapter  of  the  Philippians,  and  the 
whole  text  runs  thus:  "  I  count  all  things  as  dung  that 
I  may  win  Christ  and  be  found  in  hin),  not  having 
mine  own  righteousness,  which  is  of  the  law,  but  that 
which  is  through  the  faith  of  Christ,  the  righteous- 
ness which  is  of  God  by  faith." 

Steadym.  Well,  now,  all  that  Mr.  Lovegood  has 
been  saying,  seems  to  me  wonderfully  to  have  ex- 
plained that  text;  but  poor  Mr.  Dulman  could  not 
make  it  out  at  any  rate:  it  is  said  that  he  went  over 
on  purpose  to  Mr.  Blindnian,  to  know  if  he  could 
borrow  from  him,  or  any  other  clergyman,  a  sermon 
on  that  text,  and  he  supposed  it  was  utterly  impos- 
sible that  a  proper  funeral  sermon  could  be  made  on 
such  a  text. 

Far.  So  I  should  suppose,  according  to  his  way 
of  thinking,  when  every  poor  sinner  is  to  be  tossed 
up  into  heaven  by  the  merit  of  his  own  righteous- 
ness.    But,  brother,  what  was  the  upshot? 

Steadym.  Why,  when  he  came  to  preach  the  ser- 
mon, he  plainly  told  the  people  that  he  could  not 
understand  why  the  old  lady  should  choose  such  a 
text  that  had  puzzled  all  the  divines  round  about  the 
country;  and  that  as  in  St.  Paul's  Epistles  there  were 
many  things  "  hard  to  be  understood,^^  he  would  not 
himself  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  explain  it;  but  that 
he  would  give  us  the  best  sermon  he  had  on  a  funeral 
occasion. 

Far.  Ah!  but  if  Mr.  Lovegood  had  been  to  han- 
dle that  subject,  I'll  warrant  he  w-ould  have  given 
us  a  rare  sermon  upon  it.  But  you  know  it  is  said, 
"The  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  thinjis  of  the 
Spirit  of  God,  for  they  are  foolishness  unto  him;  nei- 
ther can  he  know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually 
discerned.'' 

Hen.    Well,  uncle,  I   hope  that  text  will  never 
puzzle  you  any  more,  as  it  has  Mr.  Dulman.     But 
VOL.  \.  —  IS 


198  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

as  to  the  accusation,  that-  such  ministers  have  to 
make  against  Mr.  Lovegood,  as  though  what  he 
preached  gave  people  a  license  to  live  in  sin,  I  am 
sure  in  himself  there  is  not  a  better  man  living;  and 
he  is  never  so  happy  as  when  all  his  hearers  live  after 
the  same  good  example  as  we  at  all  times  have  from 
him:  but  he  did  not  leave  us  in  the  dark  about  this 
matter  in  his  sermons  this  day.  You  know  how 
highly  he  spoke  of  the  purity,  and  excellency,  and 
goodness  of  the  law  in  the  morning,  and  that  as  we 
were  eternally  bound  to  obey  it,  so  it  was  most  just 
and  righteous  in  God  to  punish  us  for  our  transgres- 
sions; but  then  he  did  not  tell  us,  that  we  were  par- 
doned by  the  death  of  Christ,  that  we  might  live  in 
sin,  but  that  we  might  be  saved  from  sin.  And  can- 
not you  remember  how  he  insisted  on  it  in  the  after- 
noon, that  everyone  redeemed  from  sin  by  the  blood 
of  Christ  would  have  his  heart  renewed  by  the  grace 
of  the  Holy  Spirit?  and  you  know,  uncle,  it  is  utterly 
impossible,  when  our  hearts  are  thus  made  holy,  that 
our  lives  should  be  unholy. 

Steadym.  Well,  I  confess  I  see  things  in  a  very 
different  light  from  what  I  ever  saw  them  before. 
How  glad  I  should  be  if  my  business  would  let  me 
stop  over  Wednesday,  that  1  might  hear  Mr.  Love- 
good  preach  another  sermon. 

Nancy.  Why,  father,  suppose  you  and  uncle  were 
to  go  down  and  talk  to  Mr.  Lovegood  to-morrow 
morning;  I  am  sure  he  would  be  very  glad  to  see 
you. 

Far.  Ay,  that  I  am  sure  he  would.  1  never  shall 
forget  in  what  a  loving  and  kind  way  he  first  talked 
to  me  after  I  was  convinced  of  my  sinful  state.  Shall 
we  go,  brother  ? 

Steadym.  1  am  quite  a  stranger  to  him.  1  should 
be  ashamed  to  take  such  a  liberty;  besides,  how  I 
should  expose  my  ignorance! 


DIALOGUE  XII.  199 

-  Far.  Nay,  but,  brother,  does  any  man  keep  from 
fire  when  he  is  cold,  or  from  victuals  when  he  is 
hungry?  My  son  Harry  can  look  after  the  workmen 
to-morrow,  and  you  and  I  will  ride  down  to  Brook- 
field.  I  know  from  blessed  experience  how  well  our 
minister  has  been  taught,  like  his  blessed  Master,  "  to 
show  compassion  to  the  ignorant,  and  them  that  are 
out  of  the  way." 

Steadym.  Well,  brother,  Pll  think  of  it,  and  to- 
morrow morning  at  breakfast  I'll  let  you  know. 

Mrs.  Steadym.  I  say  to-morrow  morning  too!  1 
think  we  shall  none  of  us  be  in  bed  till  to-morrow 
morning,  for  at  this  rate  we  shall  not  have  done  talk- 
ing about  religion  to-night. 

Mrs.  Littlew.  Why,  sister,  though  I  cannot  take 
in  my  husband's  religion,  yet  I  never  got  any  good 
by  thwarting  him  in  this  fashion.  I  must  say  it  be- 
fore both  our  husbands,  they  have  been  very  good 
husbands  to  us,  as  husbands  in  general  now  go. 

Far.  Well,  well,  dame,  as  sister  is  tired,  and  the 
girls  have  put  away  the  things,  let  us  have  family 
prayer  and  go  to  bed. 

On  this  occasion  it  was  Henry's  turn  to  read.  He 
read  the  two  chapters  out  of  which  the  texts  were 
taken,  and  afterwards  the  Farmer  went  to  prayer, 
but  in  the  middle  of  his  prayer,  while  he  was  offer- 
ing up  some  humble  supplications  on  behalf  of  his 
brother  and  sister,  he  was  so  overwhelmed  by  a  holy 
anxiety  for  their  salvation,  and  his  speech  was  so 
interrupted  by  his  tears,  prayer  was  abruptly  con- 
cluded; this,  however,  gave  an  opportunity  for  an- 
other act  of  devotion  for  the  conclusion  of  the  family 
service. 

Mr.  Lovegood  having  a  poetic  turn,  was  in  the 
habit  of  composing  a  few  verses  of  a  hymn  suitable 
to  his  subject,  which  the  congregation  sang  after  the 


200  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

sermon,  and  which  Henry  Littleworth  was  accus- 
tomed to  take  down  as  Mr.  Lovegood  gave  it  out. 
It  was  therefore  proposed  that  the  hymn  sung  at 
church  at  the  afternoon  service  should  be  repeated 
at  evening  family  prayer,  of  which  the  following  is 
a  copy. 

Dear  Jesus,  we  thy  name  adore, 
Our  holy  Saviour  and  our  King; 
We  own  thy  sov'reign  love  and  pow'r, 
And  of  thy  great  salvation  sing.j 

And  shall  we  then  in  sin  proceed? 
Ungrateful  and  rebellious  provel 
Make  all  thy  wounds  afresh  to  bleed; 
And  thus  requite  thy  dying  love? 

Forbid  it,  Lord!  May  ev'ry  soul 
The  hated  thought  at  once  disdain; 
The  pow'r  of  sin  thou  canst  control; 
No  rival  lust  with  thee  shall  reign. 

Objects  that  once  gave  high  delight, 
Through  grace,  are  now  detested  grown! 
In  vain  forbidden  joys  invite, 
Since  now  the  vicious  taste  is  gone. 

Dead  to  ourselves,  and  dead  to  sin, 
In  Christ  our  better  hopes  revive; 
Th'  immortal  pulse  now  beats  within, 
While,  quicken'd  by  our  God,  we  live. 

Beams  of  celestial  light  descend 

To  renovate  the  carnal  mind; 

With  wings  fullstretch'd  to  God  we  bend, 

And  leave  this  worthless  world  behind. 

In  free  submission  low  we  fall 
Before  our  dear  Redeemer's  throne, 
To  him  with  joy  devote  our  all, 
And  live  and  die  to  him  alone. 

On  the  morrow  morning  Mr.  Steadyman  was  per- 
suaded to  make  the  visit  to  Mr.  Lovegood.    The  con- 


DIALOGUE  XII.  201 

versation  was,  we  doubt  not,  edifying  and  good;  but 
the  reader  is  requested  to  wait  till  after  the  writer's 
next  summer's  excursion,  when  he  iiopes  to  call  on 
Mr.  Lovegood,  that  he  may  be  able  more  correctly 
to  state  the  substance  of  this  interview. 
•  The  writer,  however,  has  already  obtained  suffi- 
cient information  of  the  knowledge  of  matters  at 
Brookfield,  so  as  to  form  a  conjecture  that  it  is  not 
probable  Mr.  Steadyman  can  long  attend  the  minis- 
try of  Mr.  Dulman:  and  that,  though  Mr.  Meek  is 
a  man  of  a  good  and  sound  mind,  yet  not  of  great 
preaching  ability;  and  also  that  he  will  find  his  church 
at  too  great  a  distance  for  his  regular  attendance, 
though  not  for  his  occasional  visits:  and  that  there- 
fore, when  he  became  inquisitive  after  the  truth  of 
the  gospel,  he  discovered  there  was  in  the  same  town 
a  worthy  dissenting  minister,  whom,  in  the  days  of 
his  ignorance,  he  had  overlooked;  whose  life  was 
exemplary,  and  who  had  preached  more  of  the  doc- 
trines of  the  church  of  England  in  his  meeting  in  one 
sermon,  than  was  to  be  heard  in  the  parish  church 
for  seven  years  together;  and  there  is  no  doubt,  but 
when  Mr.  Lovegood  hears  this, though  in  himself  from 
principle  and  conscience  a  minister  of  the  established 
church,  he  will  advise  Mr.  Steadyman  to  seek  after 
the  word  of  life  wherever  he  can  find  it. 

Mr.  Lovegood  is  a  man  of  enlarged  and  generous 
mind;  knowing,  therefore,  that  the  mere  reading  of 
the  church  prayers,  however  excellent  in  themselves, 
is  not  the  general  mean  of  salvation,  it  is  his  opinion 
that  a  preached  gospel  should  be  principally  sought 
for  in  every  Christian  church  or  congregation. 

The  writer  of  these  Dialogues  also  having,  at  an 
early  stage  of  his  ministry,  in  a  measure  been  driven 
from  out  of  that  line  of  the  sanctuary  service  in  which 
Mr.  Lovegood  is  called  to  labour,  confesses  that  he 
still  retains  his  partiality  for  that  service;  but  as  he 
18* 


202  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

sees  that  a  gracious  God  does  not  all  his  work  in  one 
line,  and  as  he  laments  how  much  the  members  of 
different  societies  are  cramped  by  their  restrictive 
laws,  he  equally  abhors  that  spirit  of  schism'^  and 
separation  set  up  by  party  against  party,  against  the 
true  church  of  Christ  at  large,  which  is  so  beauti- 
fully defined  in  one  of  our  own  church  articles,  as 
being  "  a  congregation  of  faithful  men  in  which  the 
word  of  God  is  preached,  and  the  sacraments  be 
duly  administered  according  to  Christ's  ordinance  in 
all  those  things  that  of  necessity  are  requisite  to  the 
same.'^ 

*  That  this  is  the  true  import  of  the  term  "  Schism  "  in 
the  word  of  God,  see  an  Essay  on  the  subject  in  the  Evan- 
gelical Magazine,  for  January,  1804. 


DIALOGUE  XIII 


BETWEEN  MR.  AND  MRS.  LOVEGOOD,  MR. 
MRS.  AND  MISS  WORTHY,  THE  FARMER, 
HENRY,  AND  MISS  NANCY. 

On  the  Evils  of  the  Slave  Trade,  concluded. 

After  the  return  of  Mr.  Worthy  and  family 
from  Lancashire,  the  engagement  with  Mr.  Love- 
good  was  attended  to.  I'hough  the  pride  of  Miss 
Polly  and  Miss  Patty  was  considerably  gratified  by 
their  visit  at  Mr.  Worthy's,  yet  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lovegood  were  constrained  to  live  in  a  more  humble 
style,  they  were  glad  of  some  frivolous  famil}^  excuse 
to  stay  at  home.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  and  Miss  Worthy, 
the  Farmer,  Henry,  and  Nancy,  were  the  whole  of 
the  party. 

For  the  sake  of  brevity  the  tea-table  conversation 
is  omitted;  one  circumstance  alone  shall  be  recorded. 
Mr.  Lovegood's  vicarage  was  by  no  means  lucra- 
tive, and  though  he  had  a  wife  whose  fortune  did 
not  annually  produce  above  thirty  pounds,  and  there 
were  four  children  to  be  maintained  from  this  small 
pittance,  still  it  was  far  from  his  disposition  to  ex- 
tort from  his  parishioners  the  utmost  penny  he  could 
demand  by  law,  knowing  well  the  infinite  injury 
that  is  done  to  the  cause  of  religion  by  such  a  mer- 
cenary conduct,  in  so  many  of  the  clerical  order;  yet 
he  still  received  much  more  than  an  equivalent  from 
the  hands  of  those  who  knew  his  worth.  Many 
had  experienced  that  the  best  of  consequences  had 
been  the  happy  result  of  his  ministry  among  them. 


204  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

o 

A  temperature  of  conduct,  had,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
directed  them  to  be  frugal  in  their  personal  indul- 
gences, that  they  might  be  liberal  to  the  necessities 
of  others.  Such  naturally  became  the  real  friends 
of  Mr.  Lovegood;  and  thus,  while  his  heart  was 
at  all  times  too  tender  to  receive  even  his  accus- 
tomed dues  from  the  hard  hand  of  honest  industry, 
while  he  has  been  frequently  known  rather  to  give 
than  receive,  yet  others,  knowing  that  "the  labourer 
is  worthy  of  his  hire,"  brought  forward  their  free 
will  offerings  in  kind  abundance.  In  the  list  of 
such  contributors,  the  name  of  Farmer  Littleworth 
was  registered  of  course.  On  his  arrival,  there- 
fore, from  Gracehill  Farm,  the  Farmer  pulled  out  a 
pound  of  tea  from  his  great  coat  pocket,  while  Miss 
Nancy  took  into  the  pantry  a  pan  of  butter  salted' 
down  for  the  winter's  service  of  the  family;  which 
presents  were  the  more  thankfully  received,  as  it 
was  by  the  particular  wish  of  Mrs.  Littleworth,  she 
having  now  sufficient  evidence  that  these  little  to- 
kens of  benevolence  were  no  burden  to  the  family, 
compared  to  the  extravagance  which  was  among 
them,  when  they  were  all  living  "without  God  in 
the  world," 

[Dolly,  Mr.  Lovegood's  maid,  the  only  servant 
they  could  afford  to  keep,  having  cleared  the  tea- 
table,  the  conversation  was  thus  resumed:] 

Farmer,  How  glad  we  all  were  to  hear  the  bells 
ring  so  charmingly,  and  to  see  the  chimneys  smoke 
so  rarely  at  the  hall,  on  your  honour's  return  last 
Saturday ! 

Worthy.  Why,  Mr.  Littleworth,  we  stopped  some- 
what shorter  than  we  designed;  for,  last  Sunday, 
when  we  were  at  Welford  church,  we  found  our- 
selves quite  out  of  our  element;  the  minister  seemed 
to  be  taking  a  deal  of  pains  to  make  out  how  the 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  205 

secret  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  he  seemed 
not  altogether  to  deny,  were  still  imperceptible. 

Far.  'Las,  sir,  what  things  these  lamed  clergy  will 
say !  I  remember  once  when  1  had  a  main  bout  with 
Mr.  Dolittle  on  that  head.  But  how  can  we  know 
or  have  any  perceptions  about  things  that  are  imper- 
ceptible, (To  Mr.  Lovegood.)  A'in't  I  right,  sir, 
in  my  poor  notions  on  that  head? 

Loveg.  Why,  it  appears  to  me,  the  best  evidence 
you  can  have  that  you  are  right  in  that  point,  will 
arise  from  your  own  experience;  and,  in  this  respect, 
blessed  be  God  for  the  change  which  has  been 
wrought  upon  your  mind,  and  that  is  the  best  evi- 
dence to  you  that  religion  is  not  imperceptible. 
But  let  us  charitably  suppose,  that  the  ministers  who 
make  such  remarks,  are  unhappily  mistaken  respect- 
ing our  interpretation  of  these  glorious  truths.  They 
conceive  that  we  are  ever  preaching  up  the  necessity 
of  feeling  a  set  of  wild  visionary  impulses  upon  the 
mind,  whereby  at  one  time  we  are  precisely  to  know 
the  moment  we  were  convinced  of  sin,  and  then  as 
precisely  tell  the  moment,  by  another  impression, 
when  we  were  pardoned.  Now,  while  1  am  sorry 
for  the  just  ofl'ence  which  has  been  given  by  too 
many  who  have  submitted  to  such  wild  impulses  of 
the  imagination;  yet  to  urge  the  charge  of  enthusi- 
asm promiscuously  against  those  who  can,  according' 
to  the  17th  article,  seriously  say,  "They  feel  in 
themselves  the  workings  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ,'^ 
or,  in  other  words,  the  spirit  of  purity  and  holiness, 
which  must  be  felt  in  all  who  have  it,  is  utterly  un- 
just. 

Wor.  But  after  all  that  has  been  said  to  the  con- 
trary from  the  press,  and  the  pulpit,  can  this  be  a 
sufficient  apology  for  those  who  suppose  the  offence 
committed  by  a  few  wild-headed  visionaries  is  to  be 
justly  urged  against  all?  yea,  and  to  make  this  a  pre- 


206  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tence  to  deny,  or  virtually  to  deny,  all  those  divine 
influences  in  which  consist  the  very  essence  and  soul 
of  Christianity.  In  the  name  of  wonder  and  com- 
mon sense,  what  good  can  be  had  from  impercepti- 
ble influences?  Is  not  the  mind  as  much  capable 
of  perceptions  or  feelings  as  the  body,  if  not  more 
so?  And  must  we  not  all  feel  the  motives  by 
which  we  act?  And  is  a  man  an  enthusiast,  be- 
cause by  the  grace  of  God  he  feels  himself  wise 
and  good,  whereas  he  once  jtU  himself  wiclied  and 
foolish? 

Loveg.  I  thought  the  ministers  of  Welford  preached 
somewhat  more  consistently  with  the  truth,  and  the 
doctrines  of  the  church. 

Wor.  At  one  time  you  would  say,  he  aims  well, 
and  that  he  would  hit  the  mark;  then  again  he  seems 
to  fly  off,  and  appears  as  wide  as  ever;  but  he  is  a 
man  of  a  decent  and  a  respectable  behaviour,  and  sets 
a  much  better  example  than  many  others  of  the  clergy 
in  that  neighbourhood.  I  gave  him  Venn's  Complete 
Duty  of  Man,  and  Witherspoon  on  Regeneration,  and 
he  accepted  them  very  kindly. 

Far.  The  Lord  make  the  books  a  blessing  to  his 
soul!  but  when  I  went  to  Mapleton  church,  I  re- 
member Mr.  Dolittle  used  to  give  us  some  sermons 
about  all-hallows  tide  of  the  same  sort;  but  then  to 
my  mind  it  seems,  that  whenever  they  happen  to  hit 
upon  the  truth,  it  is  done  all  by  chance,  "as  the  blind 
man  shot  the  croio.^' 

Wor.  But,  Mr.  Henry,  we  came  together  that  you 
might  give  us  some  farther  account  about  the  matters 
in  Antigua,  and  tell  us  something  of  the  history  of 
poor  Sancho. 

Henry.  Why,  sir,  the  first  thing  I  have  to  notice 
is  that  real  Christianity  is  the  same  in  all,  and  there 
is  no  difl'erence  in  any  as  it  respects  the  grace  of 
God,  whatever  difference  there  may  be  in  the  colour 
of  our  skins. 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  207 

Loveg.  Do  let  us  hear  what  poor  Sancho  told  you 
respecting  his  being  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
truth? 

Hen.  He  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was  tell- 
ing us  the  story  of  the  converting  grace  of  God  upon 
his  heart,  and  amidst  all  his  afflictions  that  he  had 
undergone,  he  would  ever  be  crying  ^«de  best  is  all 
to  come." 

Wor.  But,  Mr.  Henry,  had  we  not  better  first  be 
informed  of  his  history  from  the  beginning,  and  af- 
terwards hear  of  his  conversion.  Your  father  says 
it  is  an  interesting  story. 

Far.  Do  my  child,  tell  all  about  it,  as  you  told  it 
to  Billy  Traffick  the  other  night  at  our  house. 

Hen.  Sir,  I'll  recollect  it  to  the  best  of  my  power. 
In  Africa  the  men  have  frequently  more  wives  than 
one,  and  no  wonder  at  it,  the  men  not  being  so  nu- 
merous as  the  women,  on  account  of  so  many  of 
them  being  cut  off  by  this  bloody  traffic;  and  poor 
Sancho's  father,  it  seems,  had  two  wives.  For  the 
sake  of  this  horrid  plunder  their  town  was,  as  they 
call  it,  broken  up,  and  Sancho's  family  escaped  through 
the  back  door  of  their  hut. 

Far.  Why,  my  child,  I  should  never  have  thought 
that  they  had  a  back  door  and  a  fore  door,  according 
to  their  poor  way  of  living. 

Hen.  The  back  door,  father,  is  only  designed  for 
their  escape  when  we  Christian  Europeans,  as  we  are 
called,  invade  their  land,  which  they  have  as  good  a 
natural  right  to  as  you  have  to  your  farm;  and  that 
back  door  they  always  contrive  as  the  device  to  es- 
cape the  Hell-hounds  that  come  after  them  from  this 
country. 

Loveg.  Hell-hounds,  Mr.  Henry! — why,  surely 
that  was  one  of  the  words  you  were  accustomed  to 
make  use  of  on  board  of  ship  before  you  were  in- 
structed to  use  milder  language. 


208  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Hen.  Oh,  no,  sir,  either  on  board  of  ship  or  on  dry- 
land, it  is  the  best  expression  I  can  think  of  for  that 
sort  of  men.  I  can  hardly  conceive  where  such 
people  can  get  their  commission  but  from  Hell  itself; 
and,  I  believe,  you  will  say  the  same,  when  I  have 
told  you  poor  Sancho's  story. 

Wor.  Well,  then,  Mr.  Henry,  go  on;  but  I  fear 
it  will  be  a  disgraceful  tale. 

Hen.  Sir,  1  told  you  how  Saneho's  family  escaped 
through  this  back  door  when  a  Liverpool  trader  came 
to  assist  one  of  their  petty  kings  to  break  up  the 
town  in  which  they  lived.  Guns  and  cutlasses  ren- 
dered them  successful  in  their  engagement;  and  then 
Sancho  well  remembers,  that  women  and  children 
had  nothing  left  them  but  to  escape  as  well  as  they 
could  from  these  tigers  in  human  shape. 

Wor.  What  a  scandal  to  our  land,  that  these 
licensed  tigers  should  have  it  in  their  power  to  say 
they  are  allowed  from  a  land  of  liberty  to  entail  sla- 
very, and  wantonly  to  murder  so  many  thousands  of 
innocent  sufferers,  sacrificed  at  the  altar  of  our  luxury 
and  pride!  But  I  interrupt  you,  Mr.  Henry,  in  con- 
tinuing your  stor3\ 

Hen.  It  was  not  a  very  probable  circumstance, 
that  the  escape  of  poor  Saneho's  family' could  be  at- 
tended with  much  success;  his  father  having  two 
wives,  one  of  whom  was  near  her  time,  the  other 
with  a  sucking  child  at  her  breast,  and  four  other 
little  children  with  them,  Sancho  being  the  eldest  of 
the  family,  and  he  not  more  than  ten  years  of  age. 
Poor  Sancho  says,  he  well  remembers,  that  the  first 
who  was  overtaken  was  his  own  mother,  the  woman 
who  was  big  with  child;  but  as  she  was  at  first  seized 
only  by  a  single  man,  they  thought  they  might  res- 
cue her.  Her  husband  therefore  hastily  took  one  of 
the  youngest  of  his  children  from  off  his  back,  and 
having  placed  it  upon  the  ground  screaming  with 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  209 

misery  and  fright,  he  and  Sancho  ran  back  to  rescue 
her.  This  they  accomplished,  and  the  family  had 
another  run  for  their  lives  and  liberties^  but  having 
lost  much  time  in  the  rescue,  they  were  still  pursued 
and  overtaken  by  others.  Sancho's  father  was  soon 
joined  by  another  man,  who  was  trying  to  make  his 
escape  also.  They  resisted  their  pursuers  as  long 
as  they  could,  that  the  women  and  children,  if  pos- 
sible, might  make  their  escape  into  the  neighbouring 
woods.  But  the  pursuers,  supposing  their  lives 
were  in  danger,  especially  by  the  determined  reso- 
lution of  poor  Sancho's  father,  who  was  a  stron^ 
young  fellow,  and  fearing  lest  others  should  come 
down  upon  them,  fired  at  him,  and  killed  him  dead 
on  the  spot. 

Wor.  What  a  horrible  scene  of  misery  does  all 
this  exhibit  before  us!  But  what  became  of  the 
poor  women  and  children  after  they  saw  their  only 
defender  drop  down  murdered  before  their  eyes? 

Hen.  0  sir!  Sancho  says  he  well  remembers  the 
horrid  screams  of  misery  and  despair  he  heard  from 
the  women  the  moment  they  savv  his  poor  father 
fall:  nor  could  it  be  supposed,  that  while  they  were 
thus  overcome,  and  distracted  with  grief,  they  could 
long  be  out  of  the  hands  of  the  bloody  pursuers. 
Thus  they  availed  themselves  of  the  two  women 
and  five  children,  though  they  conceived  that  they 
were  obliged  to  murder  the  husband,  whom  they 
would  have  been  glad  to  have  spared,  as  it  would 
have  answered  more  for  their  interest  to  have  sold 
him  than  to  murder  him. 

JVor.  Could  any  thing  be  more  shocking!  Oh 
that  the  British  parliament  would  but  remember, 
there  was  a  day  in  which  they  once  solemnly  deter- 
mined to  see  to  the  abolition  of  this  dreadful  trade! 
Trade  did  I  call  it;  why,  it  is  the  greatest  disgrace 
to  the  name  of  fair  and  honourable  trade,  to  give  it 

VOL.  I. — 19 


210  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

such  an  appellation.  But,  Mr.  Henry,  I  suppose 
you  have  a  deal  more  to  tell  us  about  Sancho  and  the 
farther  calamities  of  his  family. 

Hen.  Oh,  sir,  poor  Sancho  can  scarcely  now  tell 
the  story,  hui  he  drops  a  tear,  when  he  recollects 
how  they  were  all  dragged  back  by  the  bleeding 
corpse  of  his  father,  asking  for  liberty  to  fall  upon 
him  and  embrace  him  for  the  last  time,  while  wel- 
tering in  his  blood.  But  away  back  to  the  town 
that  had  just  been  broken  up,  were  they  dragged, 
there  to  see  its  inhabitants  scattered,  and  every  little 
comfort  they  had  among  themselves,  laid  waste, 
and  then  to  bid  it  an  eternal  farewell.  But  it  seems 
they  went  after  the  father  and  mother  of  the  mur- 
dered man,  to  see  if  they  answered  their  purpose. 

Wor.  What!  and  were  they  also  added  to  the  list 
of  their  bloody  trophies? 

Hen.  As  far  as  1  could  learn  from  Sancho,  it  was 
some  time  before  they  could  find  them,  but  when 
they  discovered  the  man  to  be  upwards  of  fifty,  and 
his  wife  not  much  less,  they  mercifully  left  them 
behind,  because  they  would  not  answer  the  end  of 
their  detestable  traffic;  and  it  seems,  as  they  call  it, 
they  were  pretty  full  slaved  already,  and  mostly 
with  young  slaves,  which  answers  their  end  best,  as 
the  old  ones  are  more  apt  to  die  with  the  sulks  or 
hang  themselves,  as  soon  as  they  can  get  an  oppor- 
tunity after  they  have  been  sold. 

Wor.  What!  is  it  common  for  them  to  put  an  end 
to  their  present  existence  even  after  they  are  sold? 

Hen.  Sir,  when  I  was  off  Jamaica,  I  myself  saw 
three  of  them  together  one  morning  who  had 
hanged  themselves  in  the  night:  and  I  am  told  this 
is  an  event  so  very  common,  that  a  law  is  likely  to 
pass  prohibiting  the  importation,  but  under  a  certain 
age. 

WoY.  A  fine  story,  truly,  to  be  told^  that  we  better 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  211 

their  situation  in  life,  by  transporting  them  from 
Africa,  when  it  seems  they  would  rather  hang  them- 
selves than  accept  it!  But  what  became  of  these 
poor  creatures  during  the  middle  passage?* 

Hen.  Why,  Sancho  told  me,  that  soon  after  they 
were  all  put  on  board  a  slave  ship,  his  mother  was 
taken  in  labour,  and  delivered  of  a  dead  child.  The 
slave  captain  having  been  informed  by  the  ship 
doctor,  that  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  her  to 
survive  the  passage,  and  considering  also  that  she 
would  only  take  the  room  of  another  who  might 
fetch  a  better  price,  they  humanely  set  her  adrift  to 
shift  for  herself,  in  that  wretched  condition;  and 
the  first  dance  poor  Sancho  had  upon  deck  was  when 
he  was  made  to  skip  and  jump  about  at  the  lasli 
of  the  whip,  lest  he  should  die  of  the  sulks,  be- 
cause his  poor  heart  was  ready  to  break  at  the  loss 
of  his  father,  and  afterwards  at  being  for  ever  se- 
parated from  his  mother.  However,  Sancho  says, 
not  a  little  art  was  made  use  of  to  raise  the  spirits  of 
the  other  woman,  by  promising  them  that  they  should 
all  live  comfortably  together;  but  grief  immediately 
depriving  her  of  her  milk,  she  had  then  nothing  left 
but  to  water  her  child  with  her  tears  whilst  she  pre- 
sented it  with  her  dry  breasts,  and  it  soon  after 
died  in  the  mother's  arms.  Still  the  slave  captain 
supposed  he  had  a  good  booty  in  the  family,  as  there 
were  three  boys  and  one  girl,  all  of  them  between 
three  and  ten;  and  half-reared  children,  as  I  have 

*  The  slave  trader  makes  three  voyages;  the  first  from  Eng- 
land to  the  coast  of  Africa,  where  he  gets  his  horrid  cargo; 
then  to  the  West  Indies,  or  other  parts ;  this  is  called  the 
middle  passage ;  and  then  returns  to  England  to  refit.  Yet  to 
demonstration,  it  has  been  proved,  that  nothing  is  wanted  but 
a  merciful  treatment  of  the  negroes  themselves,  that  they  may 
increase  and  multiply  according  to  the  laws  of  nature.  Thus 
we  should  still  enjoy  our  luxuries  from  the  tropical  climate, 
and  these  wasteful  voyages  would  be  at  an  end. 


212  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

before  observed,  are  always  supposed  best  to  suit 
their  purpose.  It  seems,  however,  that  the  rest  of 
the  unmurdered  cargo  belonging  to  this  family  were 
all  landed;  the  poor  weakly  woman  was  scarcely 
alive  when  they  were  put  up  for  sale.  She  went 
only  for  five  pounds,  while  Sancho  sold  for  seventy, 
and  the  other  children  for  nearly  the  same;  but  dear 
Sancho  little  then  knew  that  he  wa&more  highly  va- 
lued by  our  blessed  Lord,  whose  infinitely  precious 
blood  was  shed  for  his  redemption. 

Loves^.  How  often  have  the  most  wicked  de- 
vices of  some  been  overruled  for  the  salvation  of 
others.  1  remember  hearing,  when  i  was  curate 
at  Abley  in  Yorkshire,  how  a  man  was  determined 
to  find  out  the  wicked  tricks  of  his  wife,  who  occa^ 
sionally  attended  a  meeting  for  prayer  at  a  village 
in  that  neig;hbourhood:  and,  as  the  Lord  was  pleased 
to  overrule  it,  one  of  the  company  ofiered  up  a 
most  tender  and  affectionate  prayer  for  some  then 
under  persecution,  that  the  lions  of  the  world  might 
not  tear  asunder  the  lambs  of  Christ's  flock,  but 
that  by  his  grace  every  lion  might  be  turned  into 
a  lamb:  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  it  was 
the  mean  of  his  conversion  to  God.  But,  Mr.  Hen- 
ry, I  must  not  interrupt  you:   finish  your  story. 

Hen.  Sancho  well  remembers,  that  when  they 
were  sold,  he  and  the  girl,  being  brother  and  sister, 
were  sold  together;  but  Sancho  knew  nothing  after 
that  for  some  years,  of  the  other  two  children, 
and  the  woman  who  was  their  mother;  and  then 
he  found  that  the  woman  lived  not  above  a  month, 
and  perished  in  a  neglected  state,  but  had  the  hap- 
piness to  hear  that  both  his  brothers  constantly  at- 
tended the  Moravian  ministry,  and  that  there  was 
no  doubt  but  one  of  them  was  truly  converted  to  God. 

Wor.  Then  they  were  not  allowed  to  live  together, 
according  to  promise* 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  213 

Hen.  Promises  from  an  African  slave-trader  are 
very  rarely  thouglit  of  afler  they  are  made.  But 
in  this  respect,  they  had  as  much  tenderness  as  is 
usually  granted,  to  let  the  mother  go  with  her  own 
children,  which,  now  I  am  told,  is  more  frequently 
done  than  formerly,  as  it  answers  begt  their  own  in- 
terest. 

Loveg,  Such  sort  of  mercy  reminds  me  of  that 
passage,  <*'The  tender  mercies  of  the  wicked  are 
cruel ;'^  for  what  consolation  could  this  be  to  the  wo- 
man or  her  poor  infants,  while  she  was  dying  with 
neglect.  But  it  should  seem,  upon  the  whole  of  this 
business,  that  three  in  one  family  were  virtually  mur- 
dered, that  four  poor  innocent  children  might  be 
doomed  to  perpetual  slavery,  when  it  was  utterly  im- 
possible that  they  could  deserve  it. 

JVor.  I  thinly  you  sliould  also  take  into  the  account 
the  poor  infant  who  died  through  the  hard  treatment 
of  the  mother  just  before  the  time  of  her  delivery. 

Far.  {To  Mr.  Worlhy.)  If  your  horwur  could  find 
out  that  any  poor  parish  'prentice  was  treated  half  as 
bad,  1  am  sure  you  would  give  thern  to  know  the 
rights  of  it;  but  it  is  wonderful  tome  that  there  is  no 
bringing  people  to  justice  for  such  dreadful  doings. 

Hen.  Why,  father,  some  of  them  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  no  injustice  in  any  of  their  doings,  and 
that  they  only  take  them  as  lawful  captives  in  war; 
and  that,  for  aught  they  know  to  the  contrary, 
their  wars  may  be  as  just  as  ours;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  they  do  all  in  their  power  to  excite  them 
to  these  abominable  wars,  but  I  never  could  find 
what  justice  had  to  do  with  war,  excepting  for  self^ 
defence. 

IdOveg.  Why,  the  Scriptures  have  decided  that  air 
ready.  '^Whence  come  wars  and  fightings  among 
you?  come  they  not  hence,  even  from  your  lusts 
19* 


.i^l4  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

that  war  in  your  members?"  It  is  an.  ambitious 
lust  of  power  that  has  kindled  the  flames  of  war  in 
thousands  of  instances,  and  it  is  impossible  to  cal- 
culate how  many  millions  have  been  sacrificed  at 
the  altar  of  our  pride  thereby;  but  when  we  are  all 
brought  under  the  meek,  and  mild>  and  loving  in- 
fluences of  the  Gospel,  "nations  shaU  learn  war  no 
qiore." 

[Mr.  LovegoocVs  eldest  daughter,  about  Jive  years  old, 
comes  in  nil  in  iears.'\ 

Mrs.  Loveg.  O,  my  dear, you  should  not  come  into 
the  parlour  without  leave  when  there  is  company. — 
But  what  is  the  matter? 

Child.  Mamma,  Prettyface  will  die, — John  Cheese- 
man  came  to  try  to  make  her  well  again,  but  he  says, 
he  is  sure  she  will  die,  and  then  what  shall  we  do, 
we  shall  never  go  a  milking  any  more. 

Wor,  Alas,  alas!  what  can  be  the  cause  ojf  tb^se  sad 
lamentations? 

Mrs.  Loveg.  0,  sir,  our  poor  cow  that  you  were 
so  kind  as  to  give  us,  the  beginning  of  last  winter, 
has  met  with  a  terrible  calamity,  by  being  goaded 
by  some  other  cows  on  the  common,  and  we  made 
bold  to  send  to  your  cow-keeper,  to  beg  him  iiO  look 
at  her  after  he  had  done  work:  for  it  used  to  be  a 
high  treat  to  our  little  ones  to  go  and  feed  and  milk 
the  cow. 

Wor.  (To  the  child.)  Never  mind,  my  dear;  there 
are  more  cows  than  one  in  the  country.  I  dare  say, 
we  shall  find  another  Prettyface,  who  will  give  her 
milk  to  your  brothers,  and  little  sister  that  is  in  the 
cradle. 

Mr.  Loveg.  Oh,  sir,  I  wish  the  child  had  not 
mentioned  it.  You  quite  overpower  us  with  your 
favours. 

Wor.  Indeed,  while  you  provide  us  so  plentifully 
witli  "the  sincere  milk  of  the  word/'  at  so  low  a  rate, 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  215 

the  least  that  we  can  do  will  be  to  provide  you  a 
little  milk  for  your  family. — [Should  this  part  of  the 
dialogue  be  continued,  the  modesty  of  the  parties 
might  be  considerably  offended.  As,  therefore,  the 
author  has  the  highest  respect  for  Mr.  Lovegood  and 
Mr.  Worthy;  and  as  he  would  not,  upon  any  account, 
forfeit  the  honour  and  favour  of  preaching  in  Mr. 
Lovegood's  church,  whenever  he  goes  that  way,  he 
begs  leave  to  drop  this  part  of  the  subject,  and  pro- 
ceed.] 

Mrs.  fVor.  I  hope,  Mr.  Henry,  you  have  npw 
told  us  of  all  the  evils  poor  Sancho  has  been  called 
to  suffer;  and,  I  am  sure,  you  have  related  enough 
to  cliill  one's  blood.  We  shall  be  glad  to  hear  next 
what  were  the  merciful  providences  which  brought 
him  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Gospel. 

Hen.  Alas!  madam,  there  was  a  deal  to  be  undone 
upon  poor  Sancho's  mind  before  any  thing  could  be 
done.  He  has  oftentimes  told  me  of  his  dread  and 
hatred  of  the  Christian's  God,  before  he  knew  better; 
and,  to  be  sure,  his  ideas  on  this  subject  were  not 
less  natural  than  curious. 

J^oveg.  What  were  they,  Mr.  Henry  ? 
Hen.  One  night,  soon  after  he  was  landed  in  An- 
tigua, and  while  he  was  seekingrestfor  his  distracted 
mind,  which  he  rarely  could  meet  with,  he  verily 
thought  it  must  be  more  than  a  dream,  for  that  he 
actually  saw  the  Christian's  God,  and  that  he  was  an 
uncommon  tall  white*  monster,  for  that  he  was  a  god 
of  a  very  powerful  nation;  and  as  his  worshippers 
were  always  calling  upon  him,  to  dmnn  and  blast  and 
curse  almost  ever}^  one  they  spoke  to,  he  supposed 
him  to  be  a  most  cruel  and  mischievous  god  indeed. 
No   wonder,    therefo-re,  that  Sancho's  imagination 

*  Men  of  colour  have  a  peculiar  abhorrence  of  the  idea  of 
\Yhite. 


216  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

farther  represented  this  large  monster  to  him,  though 
of  human  shape,  yet  as  having  on  his  shoulders  a 
most  horrid  tiger's  head,  with  jaws  capable  of  de- 
vouring fifty  or  a  hundred  of  our  fellow  creatures  at 
a  meal;  that  round  his  head  there  were  an  innume- 
rable quantity  of  all  sorts  of  serpents  and  scoi-pions, 
and  of  all  sizes;  that  his  paunch  or  maw,  was  of  such 
an  uncommon  size,  as  made  him  appear  a  monster  in- 
deed: that  he  had  not  only  the  head,  but  the  paws, 
of  a  tiger,  both  on  his  arms  and  legs;  and  that  it  was 
most  frightful  to  see  how  he  could  tear  up  the  ground, 
and  all  that  came  in  his  way  with  his  horrid  talons; 
that  he  had  a  tail  of  sueh  an  amazing  length,  with  a 
fiery  sting  at  the  end  of  it,  that  whenever  he  whisked 
i^t  about,  he  did  uncommon  mischief  thereby;  that  he 
had  all  around  his  immensely  large  body,  a  prodigious 
number  of  casks  of  rum  and  gunpowder,  with  swords, 
guns,  cutlasses  and  all  other  instruments  of  war  in 
terrible  and  vast  abundance,  that  were  made  for  him 
hy  the  Christians  who  worship  him;  and  that  when 
he  arose  to  shake  himself  the  noise  was  most  tre- 
mendous. That  this  horrid,  monstrous,  white  god 
of  the  Christians,  had  a  detestable  partiality  to  the 
creatures  of  his  own  making;  and  that  he  frequently 
strided  over  the  seas,  that  he  might  satiate  his  bloody 
appetite  upon  the  poor  Africans;  that  thousands  of 
his  little  white  imps  were  ordered  to  attend  him  in 
the  different  slave-trade  ships;  that  as  soon  as  they  all 
landed,  he  had  nothing  to  da  but  to  stand  upright  and 
to  look  all  around  him,  to  see  if  he  could  find  any 
peaceable,  quiet  towns,  which  were  ignorant  of  his 
arrival,  from  this  his  Christian  country;  that  then  he 
would  whisk  his  most  tremendous  tail  over  that 
country,  as  a  signal  to  all  his  imps  to  plunder  and 
murder  as  fast  as  they  could,  distributing  among  them 
his  casks,  arms,  and  ammunition  for  that  purpose;  and 
then  as  fast  as  these  captives  could  be  brought  to  him 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  217 

by  his  bloody  imps,  he  would  swallow  them  down 
by  scores;  that  one  morning  he  came  over  from  the 
Christianas  country  so  hungry, that  he  devoured  "four 
thousand  five  hundred  at  one  meal;"*  and  that  he  is 
scarcely  satisfied  unless  his  imps  procure  him  a  hun- 
dred thousand  year  by  year;  and  that  when  his  maw 
begins  to  be  so  full  that  he  can  gorge  no  more,  the 
rest  of  them  he  gives  over  to  the  care  of  his  buckraf 
imps,  who  take  them  beyond  the  seas,  that  they  may 
be  kept  for  him,  so  that  he  may  send  for  them,  or 
come  after  them,  whenever  he  thinks  proper  to  de- 
vour them.  Such  was  Sancho's  idea  of  the  God  of 
buckra  men;  and  the  dream,  or  vision,  was  so  strong 
upon  his  mind,  that  he  could  scarcely  persuade  him- 
self it  was  not  a  reality. 

Loveg.  Indeed  his  idea  of  the  Christian's  god  is 
not  less  natural  than  our  crimes  are  enormous;  but 
what  opinion  had  he  of  their  own  gods? 

Hen.  He  thought  that  some  of  their  gods  were 
bad  enough,  but  nothing  like  so  wicked  as  our  god; 
but,  blessed  be  the  Lord,  Sancho  has  been  bettei; 
taught  since  then.  He  now  knows  that  "God  is 
love." 

Loveg.  Yes,  Mr.  Henry,  that  is  the  part  of  the 
story  we  want  to  hear,  how  poor  Sancho  came  by  the 
knowledge  of  the  gospel. 

Hell.  For  some  time  after  poor  Sancho  was  sold, 
he  had  reason  to  groan  under  his  bondage;  and  all 
that  time  he  was  kept  in  sad  ignorance;  but  after- 
ward he  had  masters  who  were  much  more  humane; 
and  they  encouraged  the  preaching  of  the  gospel  on 
their  plantations:  but  stiLl  Sancho  kept  up  his  pre- 
judice against  the  Christian's  God.  The  first  thing 
which  forcibly  struck  him  was  the  meek  and  hum- 

*  See  Dialogue  IX.,  p.  7. 
f  The  negro  name  for  a  white  man. 


i^l8  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

ble  deportment  of  two  Christian  slaves,  a  man  and 
his  wife,  during  a  hurricane  that  was  in  those  parts 
some  years  ago,  and  which  was  fatal  to  the  lives  of 
many.  He  wondered  to  hear  them  talk  about  their 
dear  loving  Saviour  all  the  time  their  poor  cots  were 
blowing  about  their  ears,  and  their  lives  in  continual 
danger;  nor  could  he  make  it  out,  while  he  was 
trembling  and  quaking  under  the  apprehensions  of 
death,  notwithstanding  he  had  met  with  so  many 
things  to  sicken  him  of  life,  to  hear  them  rejoicing 
and  singing.  One  little  hymn  they  sung  over  so 
often,  that  Sancho  well  remembered  the  words. 

While  thunders  and  tempests  are  rolling  above, 
I  trust  in  my  Saviour,  and  rest  on  his  love: 
The  thunders  of  vengeance  shall  never  annoy 
The  peaceable  rest  which  in  Christ  I  enjoy. 

My  blood-shedding  Jesus  I  claim  as  my  rock, 
Wlio  carefully  screens  the  poor  lambs  of  the  flock; 
I  trust  on  his  mercy,  and  Uve  on  his  grace. 
And  under  his  cross  is  my  sweet  dwelling-place. 

While  Jesus  sits  smiling  above  the  black  cloud, 
I'll  sing  to  his  praises  Hosannas  aloud; 
For  soon  will  he  take  me  to  regions  above, 
To  bask  in  his  presence  and  feast  on  his  love. 

Then  here,  my  Redeemer,  I'll  sit  at  thy  feet; 
Should  death  overtake  me,  I  humbly  submit. 
Then  come  the  blessed  moment  in  which  I'm  to  die, 
For  Jesus  hath  loved  i?ie,  I  cannot  say  why. 

Then  the  poor  man  would  cry  in  their  broken 
language,  "0  my  dear  wifey,  you  and  I  cast  our- 
selves on  de  dear  Saviour,  for  ^he  careth  for  us.'  0 
what  a  loving  Saviour  he  is  to  care  for  such  poor 
sinful  human  creatures  as  we  are."  Then  when 
another  tremendous  clap  of  thunder  was  intermixing 
itself  in  the  storm,  he  would  cry, 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  219 

And  when  thy  loud  thunders  are  rolling  above, 
We'll  trust  in  thy  mercy,  and  feast  on  thy  love^ 

Then  again  he  would  say,  "Our  most  clear  Sa-^ 
viour  is  'a  hiding  place  from  de  storm  and  a  covert 
from  de  tempest,  and  de  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a 
weary  land.'  De  storm  cannot  hurt  us  if  it  should 
kill  us,  for  den  we  should  go  to  de  dear  Saviour, 
who  has  been  so  loving  and  good  to  our  sinful 
hearts."  Such  was  the  substance  of  the  conversa- 
tion and  behaviour,  so  far  as  Sancho  recollects  it, 
of  these  poor  creatures  during  the  hurricane;  and 
which  was  quite  new  to  him,  having  never  seen  till 
now  any  thing  like  the  holy  patience  which  belongs 
to  the  real  Christian. 

Loveg.  I  should  suppose,  from  this  circumstance, 
Sancho  began  to  have  a  more  favourable  opinion  of 
the  Christian's  God. 

IIe?i.  Sancho,  from  that  time,  began  to  have  an 
idea  that  the  Christians  had  two  gods;  a  very  dread- 
ful bad  god,  and  a  very  merciful  and  good  God. 

Wor.  Why  really  Sancho  was  not  far  short  of  the 
mark;  the  god  of  this  world  is  quite  as  bad  a  god  as 
Sancho  could  suppose  him  to  be;  but,  1  hope,  he 
soon  after  this  got  acquainted  with  the  good  God; 
for,  I  am  sure,  he  had  suffered  enough  from  the  bad 
god. 

Hen.  For  a  time  the  poor  creature  said  he  "  was 
afraid  to  serve  de  good  God,  because  he  appeared  so 
much  more  weak  dan  de  bad  god."  He  observed,  that 
"  none  of  de  great  buckra  men,  nor  any  of  deir  rich 
masseys,  served  de  good  God,  but  laughed  at  all  dat 
did;  and  dat  dey  did  not  like  to  serve  de  good  God^ 
because  he  would  not  allow  dem  to  get  rich  by  stealing 
and  cruelty;  nor  to  be  angry  and  spiteful,  nor  to  live 
in  drunkenness  and  lewdness;  and  dat  dere  was  one 
great  Island  about  dose  parts  where  all  de  people 


220  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

"Served  de  great  bad  god,  so  dat  dey  quite  devoured 
up  dose  dat  served  de  good  God."* 

fVor.  Poor  Sancho's  discovery,  however,  that  there 
was  a  good  God,  as  well  as  a  had  one,  might  have 
been  of  considerable  use  to  his  mind,  and,  doubtless, 
led  him  to  inquire  farther  after  the  truth. 

Loveg.  Why,  really,  he  appeared  to  know  more  of 
the  truth,  even  in  that  state,  than  many  among  us. 
i  am  positive  that  Sancho's  conceptions  of  the  nature 
of  God  were  more  consistent  than  what  is  too  gene- 
rally admitted  among  ourselves.  What  loose  notions 
are  to  be  found  among  many  who  believe  in  the  unity 
of  the  divine  existence;-j-  as  if  an  allowance  of  sin 
could  be  found  in  the  same  holy  Being,  who  from 
the  infinite  perfection  of  his  nature,  cannot  but  eter- 
nally abhor  it. 

M7^s.  Loveg.  But  I  hope,  Mr.  Henry,  you  will  let 
us  hear  the  rest  of  Sancho's  experience.  The  bells 
will  ring  for  church  in  about  half  an  hour,  and  my 
husband  loves  a  little  retirement  before  he  begins  the 
service. 

Heii.  \  have  already  observed,  that  Sancho's  task- 
masters began  to  be  much  less  rigid  and  severe;  and 
it  therefore  became  more  the  custom  to  encourage 
marriage  on  the  plantation  on  which  Sancho  laboured. 
Against  this,  however,  he  always  had  an  objection, 
lest  he  should  have  an  offspring  to  be  made  as  mise- 
rable as  himself;  but  as  he  found  his  own  situation 
much  altering  for  the   better,  he  began  to  turn  his 

*  It  is  probable  Sancho  has  a  reference  to  Jamaica,  which 
is  perhaps  the  nearest  resennblance  of  the  gates  of  hell  of  any 
place  in  the  British  dominions. 

f  The  Socinians  are  very  fond  of  claiming  to  themselves 
the  title  of  Unitarians,  as  if  they  alone  believed  in  the  unity 
of  the  Divine  Essence.  Can  this  arise  from  ignorance?  They 
know  that  we  no  more  believe  in  the  existence  of  three  Gods, 
th^n  themselves. 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  221 

thoughts  that  way;  but  still  he  determined,  if  ever 
he  did  marry,  to  unite  himself  to  one  who  served  the 
good  God,  as  he  conceived  he  should  be  much  hap- 
pier with  her  than  another.  He  accordingly  paid  his 
addresses  to  two  or  three  young  female  slaves,  while 
all  of  them  were  in  one  tone:  "Me  no  love  you,  me 
no  be  your  wifey,  you  no  love  our  dear  Saviour." 
All  these  refusals  made  Sancho  more  anxious  to  make 
farther  inquiries  about  the  dear  Saviour,  and  this 
was  the  first  thing  that  induced  him  to  go  into  the 
chapels  belonging  to  those  good  people  called  Mora- 
vians. 

Loveg.  It  appears  that  this  poor  artless  man  had 
some  secret  drawings  in  his  mind  after  good,  but  that 
as  yet  he  did  not  know  where  it  was  to  be  found.  I 
am  sure,  wherever  there  is  a  conviction  of  that  which 
is  wrong,  and  a  holy  desire  to  be  right,  such  persons 
are  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Hen.  So  it  appeared  with  Sancho.  For,  as  soon 
as  he  began  to  hear  the  praying  and  singing  and 
preaching  of  these  good  people,  his  eyes  were  at 
once  fastened  on  them,  and  his  heart  was  soon 
brought  to  receive  the  gospel.  0!  it  was  his  de- 
light to  tell  how  his  soul  was  won  over  to  the  blessed 
service  of  God  by  hearing  of  the  glad  tidings  of  sal- 
vation. 

Mrs.  Loveg.  And  1  hope  it  will  be  as  delightful 
to  us  to  hear  of  it;  do  make  haste,  Mr.  Henry,  and 
tell  us  more  of  it  before  we  go  to  church. 

Hen.  Oh!  madam,  it  was  very  pleasant  to  hear 
with  what  sweet  surprise  he  was  led  to  attend  on 
their  ministry.  He  was  first  not  a  little  astonished 
and  softened  by  their  singing,  when  it  came  into  his 
mind  how  different  it  was  from  the  mad  hello  wings, 
roarings,  and  screamings  which  are  to  be  found 
among  the  wretched  slaves  of  sin;  and  when  com- 
pared to  the  execrable  shouts  of  triumph  made  among 
VOL.  I.— 20 


222  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

those  cruel  tormentors  of  the  human  race,  who  brought 
him  from  Africa. 

Far.  Ah!  Henry,  my  child,  you  can  now  speak 
from  experience.  Neither  you  nor  I  knew  any  thing 
of  happiness,  till  we  were  blessed  with  the  grace  of 
God  upon  our  hearts,  and  now  God  has  loved  us,  sny 
dear  child,  how  sweetly  we  love  one  another!  (Far- 
mer much  affected.  J 

Hen.  Yes,  blessed  be  God,  father,  that  we  now 
know  what  it  is  to  have  that  kingdom  of  God  esta- 
blished in  our  hearts,  which  is  "righteousness  and 
peace  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Loveg.  None  can  tell  the  happiness  they  enjoy, 
who  are  blessed  with  "the  peace  of  God,  which 
passeth  all  understanding,  and  which  keeps  the  heart 
and  mind  through  Jesus  Christ." — But  if  Sancho  was 
so  affected  under  the  singing,  how  did  his  mind  feel- 
under  the  sermon? 

Hen.  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  sir.  The  minister 
was,  it  seems,  then  preaching  upon  that  text,  "We 
have  redemption  through  his  blood,  the  forgiveness 
of  sins,  according  to  the  riches  of  his  grace."  0 
how  Sancho  delighted  to  tell  of  the  effects  of  that 
sermon  on  his  heart. 

JVor.  Can  you  give  us  the  particulars,  Mr.  Henry? 

Hen.  Why,  sir,  he  told  me,  that  the  minister 
introduced  his  sermon  by  remarking,  what  a  deal 
of  pains  was  taken  in  the  plantations  to  destroy  the 
borers  that  were  so  injurious  to  the  sugar  canes; 
and  he  supposed,  that  no  merciful  planter  could  ever 
wantonly  wish  to  kill  these  poor  insects,  while  each 
of  them  might  probably  feel  as  much  as  though  "a 
giant  died,"  provided  he  could  but  instruct  them  not 
to  injure  him  any  more.  Then  he  asked  the  question, 
if  there  was  a  planter  so  wise  as  .to  contrive  a  plan 
to  instruct  them  better,  as  what  they  did  was  the 
cause  of  their  own  destruction?    Then  he  observed. 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  223 

that  before  any  planter  was  capable  of  instructing 
these  poor  borers,  of  his  good  will  towards  them,  he 
must  become  a  borer  himself.  Then  he  cried,  "0 
the  wisdom  and  mercy  of  God  our  Saviour  towards 
our  unmerciful  and  depraved ^-ace,  for  that  we  on 
earth  were  no  more  in  the  sight  of  God,  than  these 
little  insects  are  in  our  sight.  Yet  that  he  might 
prove  his  mercy  towards  us,  and  that  he  might  rnake 
known  tlie  riches  of  his  love,  he  appeared  as  one  of 
our  own  race,  and  suftered  in  our  stead  all  that  w-e 
deserved  from  the  justice  of  his  holy  Fath-er,  for 
transgressing  against  his  good  and  righteous  law. 
This  simple,  yet  beautiful  display  of  the  love  of  God 
towards  man  so  affected  poor  Sancho,  that  he  scarcely 
knew  the  ground  he  trod  upon;  and  methinks  1  see 
him  now,  just  as  I  then  saw  him  while  relating  this, 
part  of  his  story,  with  his  eyes  lifted  up,  each  of  them 
filled  with  a  floating  tear  of  gratitude  and  joy,  and 
then  crying,  in  their  language, 

Let  all  de  world  fall  down  and  know, 
Dat  none  but  God  such  love  could  show, 

Loveg.  What  a  mercy  it  is,  that  the  Lord  has  in- 
clined the  hearts  of  these  good  people  to  labour  with 
so  much  disinterestedness  and  holy  zeal  to  bring  these 
abject  sinners  to  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel!  But, 
I  dare  say,  Sancho  had  somewhat  farther  to  say  of 
the  particular  effect  the  sermon  had  upon  his  heart. 

Hen.  He  next  told  me,  as  he  expressed  himself, 
^^  that  when  all  de  broders  and  sisters  dat  stood  near 
him  saw  dat  our  dear  Saviour  was  breaking  his 
heart,"  they  all  began  to  smile  and  weep  for  joy; 
and  after  the  service  was  over  they  came  round  him 
like  a  swarm  of  bees;  saying  one  after  another,  "  0, 
my  dear  broder,  how  glad  we  are  dat  hearing  of  de 
death  and  sufferings  of  our  dear  Saviour  has  made 


224  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

you  feel  de  grace  of  a  broken  heart.  Now,  broder, 
he  will  make  you  happy,  and  he  will  come  and  live 
in  your  heart  while  you  Heat  his  cross.  0  how  wel- 
come is  de  poor  sinner  to  de  loving  Saviour."  He 
afterwards  told  me,  that  he  was  soon  persuaded  to 
visit  the  good  man  he  had  heard  preach;  and  when 
poor  Sancho  began  telling  him  what  a  wicked  heart 
he  now  found  he  had,  he  was  a  little  surprised  to  hear 
him  say  all  that  was  very  good;  and  when  he  began 
to  complain  still  deeper,  he  was  yet  more  surprised 
when  he  said,  that  was  better  still;  and  when  he  far- 
ther told  him  that  he  was  so  very  wicked,  that  he 
must  be  rained  for  ever,  if  our  blessed  Saviour  would 
not  save  him  as  the  chief  of  sinners,  he  was  quite 
astonished  when  the  minister  joined  in  saying,  "0 
my  dear  broder,  that  is  best  of  all;  how  glad  1  am 
that  you  have  received  the  grace  to  know  your  great 
need  of  the  blood-shedding  and  atonement  of  our 
blessed  Lord."  Soon  after  this,  Sancho,  beginning 
to  find  the  conflict  within  himself  common  to  all 
Christians,  came  and  told  the  minister  of  a  discovery 
he  had  made,  that  he  had  two  souls,  a  good  one,  and 
a  very  bad  one;  the  minister  explained  to  him  from 
whence  his  mistake  arose,  and  that  he  had  not  two 
souls,  but  two  very  different  principles  in  one  and  the 
same  soul.  Upon  a  farther  discovery  of  the  truths 
of  the  gospel,  Sancho,  however,  quickly  found  him- 
self a  much  happier  man  than  ever  he  had  been  be- 
fore; he  walked  in  the  love  and  fear  of  the  Lord, 
and  was  soon  baptized,  and  admitted  to  communion 
among  these  good  people.  And  after  that,  was  mar- 
ried to  one  of  the  women  who  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him  because  he  did  not  then  love  de  dear 
Saviour. 

Loveg.  Why  these  good  people  have  a  dialect  pe- 
culiar to  themselves!  but,  notwithstanding  some  pe- 
culiarities of  expression,  they  are  most  affectionately 


DIALOGUE  XIII.  225 

and  warmly  attached  to  the  essential  truths  of  the 
gospel:  and  I  am  sure,  wherever  that  is  the  case, 
mere  modes  of  expression  are  of  very  little  conse- 
quence; they  have  set  an  example  to  all  the  world 
in  their  zeal  for  the  salvation  of  sinners,  which  never 
can  be  sufficiently  admired. 

Far.  Henry,  my  chi'.d,  I  wish  you  could  have 
brought  Sancho  and  his  family  with  you.  How  de- 
lighted I  should  have  been  to  have  had  them  all  to 
work  at  our  farm.  I  dare  say  we  could  have  done 
very  well  by  them,  for  Christians  love  to  be  diligent. 

Hen.  Ah!  father,  you  don't  understand  matters. 
A  slave  in  those  parts  is  as  much  his  master's  pro- 
perty, as  your  hogs  and  stock  of  cattle  are  a  part  of 
your  property. 

Far.  The  more's  the  pity,  my  child,  a  thousand 
and  a  thousand  time's  over. 

[The  bells  striking  up  for  church,  Mr.  Lovegood 
retires  to  his  study;  the  Farmer,  Henry  and  Mr. 
Worthy,  take  the  opportunity  to  walk  out  to  see  if 
there  could  be  any  thing  done  for  poor  Pretty  face; 
and  thus  ends  the  dialogue  on  the  Slave  Trade.] 


2Q* 


DIALOGUE  XIV. 


A  WHISPER  FROM  BEHIND  THE  DOOR;  OR  THE  SECRETS 
OF  PRIVATE   SCANDAL  MADE  PUBLIC  I   BEING, 

A  WINTER  Evening's  conversation  over  a  Dish  of 
Tea  and  a  Game  of  Cards,  at  old  Madam  Toogood's, 
of  Lower  Brookfield,  (mentioned  in  Dialogue  III. 
who  lived  on  an  annuity  of  150/.  a  Year;)  between 
the  good  old  Lady, 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Spiteful,  Master  of  the  Free 
Grammar  School,  in  Envy  Lane,  Mapleton,  who  had 
whipped  away  all  his  Scholars  but  one  or  two,  that 
he  might  live  at  his  Leisure,  and  still  enjoy  the  Pro- 
fits of  the  Endowment,  availing  himself  of  other  Ad- 
vantages by  his  occasional  Services  among  the  neigh- 
bouring Clergy; 

Mr.  WisEHEAD,  a  Bookseller  in  the  same  Town,  a 
strict  Attendant  on  Dr.  Dronish,  and  his  Assistant 
the  Rev.  Mr  Smirking; 

Mr.  (/Onsiderate,  one  of  the  Aldermen  of  Ma- 
pleton, who  possessed  a  few  Houses  in  the  Town, 
and  a  small  freehold  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  who 
had  lately  given  more  regular  attendance  on  Mr. 
Lovegood,  with  his  Wife  and  Daughter,  who  bad 
been  constant  attendants  some  time  before; 

Miss  Prate  APACE,  a  young  woman,  who  was  an 
Apothecary's  Daughter,  one  of  Madam  Toogood's 
God-daughters,  and  an  apprentice  of  Madam  Flirt, 
the  Milliner;  and 

Miss  Polly  Little  worth. 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  221 

Miss  Patty  was  also  expected,  but  both  the  young 
Ladies  could  not  attend,  as  it  was  Washing  Week  at 
Gracehill  Farm. 

The  conversation  was  thus  introduced.  Mi^  Polly 
comes  in,  all  in  a  bustle. 


Miss  Polly.  I  am  perdigiously  sorry,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  if  I  have  made  you  wait,  but  my  mother 
wanted  me  to  call  at  Mr.  Traffick's,  of  the  shop,  as 
I  was  coming  this  way,  for  some  grocery  and  other 
shop  goods.  I  protest  I  have  walked  so  fast  that  I 
am  all  in  a  state  o[  prosperation — {The  tea  is  called  for 
and  introduced.) 

Spiteful.  I  wonder  that  every  body  should  be  run- 
ning to  that  shop,  to  support  such  a  schismatical  en- 
thusiast, as  though  there  were  no  other  shops  but  his. 
I  would  turn  my  servant  away,  if  he  should  dare  to 
go  there  for  a  hap^ worth  of  sand. 

Mr.  Considerate.  Now  really,  sir,  you  do  no  good 
by  such  vehemence.  If  a  man  acts  conscientiously 
in  his  business,  I  don't  see  what  we  have  to  do  with 
his  religion;  and,  I  believe,  on  all  hands,  it  is  ac- 
knowledged, that  Mr.  Traffick  is  very  just  in  all  his 
dealings. 

Miss  Polly.  Sir,  my  father  insists  upon  it,  that  we 
must  all  run  galloping  to  that  shop.  I  hardly  think 
he  would  let  our  Sam  wear  a  livery  if  he  did  not 
send  there  for  all  the  trimmings:  and  when  I  was 
there,  to  be  sure  how  he  held  forth  behind  the  coun- 
ter, as  though  he  had  been  in  a  pulpit,  about  the  mi- 
raculous conversion  of  my  brother,  as  he  called  it. 
I  am  sure,  of  late,  we  are  quite  suffocated*  with  re- 
ligion in  our  house. 

Mr.  Spiteful.  Yes,  conversion  is  a  mighty  word 
with  them;  for  it  seems  that  not  only  such  men  as 

*  Miss  Polly  probably  meant  surfeited. 


228  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

your  brother,  who  was  once  so  wil-d,  and  is  now  be^ 
come  so  sanclified,  but  every  one  who  steps  a  little 
aside  from  their  strict  notions  of  religion,  they  sup- 
pose to  be  no  better  than  heathens,  and  they  must 
all  be  converted  or  be  damned.  Mr.  Wisehead,  you 
are  a  man  of  reading,  and  I  dare  say  you  admit  the 
justice  of  my  remark  against  these  enthusiasts. 

Wisehead.  In  my  opinion,  sir,  it  is  very  injudicious 
to  bring  forward  the  words  conversion  and  regenera- 
tion, as  though  they  could  be  in  any  sense  applicable 
among  us  Christians  in  the  present  day.  They  were 
only  designed  for  primitive  times,  when  people  were 
brought  over  from  being  Jews  or  Pagans  to  be  of 
our  holy  religion:  but  how  can  any  of  us  be  con- 
verted to  the  Christian  religion,  when  w'e  are  Chris- 
tians already. 

Mr.  Consid.  What  then,  sir,  do  you  think  that 
Henry  Little  worth  was  a  Christian  when  he  and  his 
comrades  kept  our  town  in  a  perpetual  uproar;  and 
when  (5ne  evening  they  got  from  your  barber  one 
of  your  old  wigs,  and  put  it  on  an  ass's  head,  and 
then  drove  him  down  the  town,  and  into  your  shop, 
saying  Mr.  Wisehead  was  come  to  sup  with  his  bro- 
ther? 

Wiseh.  Certainly,  sir,  these  w^ere  very  unwise  and 
irrational  steps  in  that  giddy  youth;  notwithstanding 
it  were  the  highest  reflection  upon  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing to  suppose  we  have  not  within  ourselves,  from 
the  principles  of  7iatural  religion,  sufficient  powers  to 
reform  ourselves  from  our  vicious  courses;  for  what 
purpose  has  the  Almighty  given  to  every  man  both 
reason  and  conscience,  if  these  were  not  adequate  to 
the  reformation  of  mankind? 

Consid.  Why  really,  sir,  . I  can't' see  what  great 
matters  reason  has  ever  done  in  the  reformation  of 
mankind;  slie  seems  to'  stand  aside,  and  let  nine- 
tenths  act  by  mere  passion  and  appetite;  and  as  for 


DIALOGUE  XIV. 


229 


conscience,  I  am  sure,  among  thousands,  that  acts 
like  an  unfaithful  and  intoxicated  watchman,  without 
either  eyes  or  brains.  I  believe  that  my  wife's  mi- 
nister is' quite  right  in  his  doctrine,  that  all  the  facul- 
ties of  the  human  mind  are  exceedingly  vitiated  and 
depraved;  and  till  God  mends  reason  and  conscience, 
they  will  never  mend  us. 

Wiseh.  But,  sir,  if  mankind  are  vicious,  it  is  their 
own  fault;  for  we  may  be  all  good  if  we  will. 

Consid.  Certainly  so.  {To  Mrs.  Toogood.)  See, 
madam,  how  your  cat  is  a  licking  and  cleaning  herself 
all  over. 

Madam  Toogood.  Oh,  sir,  she  is  a  lovely  delicate 
creature! 

Consid.  {To  Mr.  TFisehead.)— Then  I  suppose 
she  has  a  will  to  be  clean,  and  she  proves  the  point, 
she  may  be  clean  if  she  z^eV/.  (To  Miss  Folly.)  Now, 
Miss  Polly  Littlevvorth,  did  you  ever  see  any  of 
your  father's  hogs  sit  upright,  and  wash  and  clean 
themselves  with  their  fore  feet  like  that  cat?  and  they 
certainly  may  if  they  will;  but,  alas,  they  want  the 
will. 

Spiteful.  Well,  such  a  thought,  had  I  lived  a  thou- 
sand years,  would  never  have  entered  my  brains;  but 
pray,  are  we  to  be  compared  to  hogs  and  cats? 

Consid.  Why,  in  the  Bible,  men  have  been  com- 
pared to  brutes  before  now:  to  lions,  bears,  tigers, 
or  leopards,  wolves,  foxes,  and  dogs,  and  to  birds 
also,  not  less  ravenous  than  such  sort  of  beasts,  to 
eagles,  vultures,  ravens,  and  others;  yes,  and  to  the 
worst  of  reptiles,  to  vipers  themselves.  But  I  only 
ask,  if  there  ever  was  found  that  creature,  either 
among  men  or  brutes,  that  could  will  contrary  to 
his  inclination  or  disposition?  What  then  can  we 
mean  -by  saying,  we  may  all  be  good  if  we  will? 
who  in  their  senses  ever  denied  it?  Just  so  bad  men 
will  be  bad,  and  good  men  will  be  good.     Is  not 


230  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

every  one's  will  regulated  by  his  disposition?     Such, 
however,  is  the  glib  nonsense  of  the  day. 

JViseh.  I  hope,  sir,  you  do  not  think,  that  we  ra- 
tional dissenters  talk  nonsense:  but  according  to 
your  notions  (and  I  would  not  wish  to  misunderstand 
you,  as  I  believe  you  have  a  good  heart,  and  mean 
well)  man  is  a  mere  machine — and  there  is  an  end  to 
all  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice  in  man,  if  we 
are  obliged  to  act  according  to  our-  dispositions,  and 
have  no  power  to  correct  them. 

Madam  Toogood.  Oh!  shocking,  shocking,  Mr. 
Considerate,  I  never  thought  you  could  believe  in 
such  bad  notions  of  religion.  I  am  very  sorry  to 
hear,  that  of  late  you  have  been  such  a  strict  follower 
of  Lovegood.  I  am  sure  he  preaches  very  wicked 
doctrines. 

Spile/.  Yes,  madam,  and  such  are  the  tenets  held 
forth  at  Brookfield  church.  I  suppose  that  Atheism 
will  be  preached  there  next. 

Consid.  Now  I  beg,  sir,  you  would  be  a  little 
more  dispassionate  and  give  me  a  calm  answer  to  the 
following  question:  supposing  you  should  ask  any 
of  the  wild  sparks  in  our  tow^n  the  reason  why  they 
gave  way  to  such  courses,  what  do  you  think  would 
be  their  answer?  Why,  that  they  Were  overpowered 
by  temptation  and  inclination  before  they  submitted 
to  such  ways. 

Spile/.  I  suppose  they  might,  sir;  but  what  of 
that? 

Consid.  Then  it  seems  they  wanted  strength  or 
power  to  resist,  and  that  reason  and  conscience  did 
them  no  good,  and  that  they  were  conquered  by  the 
wicked  inclinations  and  corruptions  of  their  hearts. 

Spile/  But  if  you  make  it  out  that  these  people 
acted  against  their  wills  in  what  they  did,  I  can  see 
no  harm  in  any  of  their  wicked  tricks. 

Consid.  Stop,  sir,  you  go  on  too  fast:  did  I  sup-- 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  231 

pose  that  tho}^  acted  against  their  wills,  when  they 
acted  according  to  their  inclinations?  Is  not  every 
man's  will -and  inclination  virtually  the  same?  And 
are  not  all  people,  with  bad  inclinations,  wilfully 
wicked,  while  others,  with  good  inclinations  are 
willingly  pious?  I  think,  Mr.  Wisehead,  the  will  is 
nothing  but  theservant  of  the  understanding  and  in- 
clinations. 

IViseh'  ( Giving  his  forehead  a  grave  and  judicious 
scratch.)  Really,  sir,  your  question  is  so  intricate 
and  important,  I  would  rather  take  some  time  to 
consider  that  point.  Before  I  venture  upon  an  an- 
swer, I  should  like  to  talk  to  our  ministers.  The 
Doctor  .and  Mr.  Smirking,  I'll  assure  you,  sir,  are 
very  rational  and  able  divines,  and  as  you  are  in  the 
habit  of  calling  at  our  shop  to  read  the  news,  in  a 
day  or  two  hence  I  hope  1  shall  be  able  to  give  you 
a  satisfactory  answer:  and  then,  sir,  we  can  step  into 
our  back  parlour,  and  have  a  few  words  farther  on 
this  subject. 

Spitef.  [All  in  a  hurry.)  Why,  v/here  is  the  diffi- 
culty of  answering  that  question  ? .  What  has  the  un- 
derstanding or  the  inclination  to  do  with  the  will? 
Have  we  not  all  a  free  will  to  act  as  we  like  best? 
Had  not  I  a  free  will  to  come  here,  and  must  I  not 
have  a  free  will  to  go  home  again? 

Consid.  Pray,  sir,  have  you  a  free  will  to  throw 
yourself  into  the  fire,  or  jump  into  the  water,  or  to 
go  to  Brookfield  church  next  Sunday? 

Spitef.  How  can  a  man  have  a  free  will  to  do  those 
things  which  he  naturally  hates? 

Consid.  Why  then,  having  no  inclination  to  throw 
yourself  into  the  fire  or  water,  or  to  go  to  Brookfield 
Church,  there  would  be  no  getting  you  to  do  these 
things  but  by  force.  Now  I  always  thought,  witli 
you,  ever  since  I  have  considered,  this  point,  that 
every  man's  will  must  be  free  to  follow  his  inclina- 


232  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tions  and  dispositions;  and  that  is  the  reason  why  the 
world  live  so  wickedly,  because  they  like  it  best. 
And  I  think  if  you  had  attended  a  little  more  to  the 
feelings  of  your  own  mind,  and  the  minds  of  others, 
you  would  have  found  it  out  that  all  people  act  ac- 
cording to  their  inclinations  and  dispositions,  whether 
good  or  bad,  and  that  the  understanding  debates  ac- 
cording to  the  object  set  before  it;  next  comes  the 
choice,  and  the  will  at  last  determines  to  pursue  the 
object  that  is  suggested  by  the  inclinations,  digested 
by  the  understanding,  and  prefetTed  by  the  choice: 
[io  Miss  Polly, '\  and  I  dare  say.  Miss  Polly,  if  your 
worthy  father  was  one  of  the  party,  he  would  at  once 
see  that  all  this  talk  about  free  will  was  but  putting 
the  cart  before  the  horse:  for  of  this  I  am  persuaded, 
we  never  act  but  as  we  are  acted  upon,  and  that  good 
or  evil  are  the  result  of  all  actions  according  to  the 
habit  of  the  mind* 

Spitef.  Then  we  are  all  like  pumps,  or  wheel-bar- 
rows, and  not  rational  creatures.  I  am  for  rational 
religion  with  Mr.  Wisehead. 

Consid.  And  so  am  I  too,  sir;  but  though  rational 
creatures  make  machines,  yet  there  is  no  rationality 
in  the  machine  itself.  Now  I  believe  every  man  ex- 
ercises his  reason  according  to  his  nature  and  disposi- 
tion; and  when  I  suppose  the  pure  and  holy  word  of 
God  is  proposed  to  the  choice  of  all,  they  who  reject 
it  do  it  with  the  utmost  freedom  of  the  will,  because 
they  dislike  it,  and  that  all  good  men  have  exactly 
the  same  freedom  of  will  in  the  choice  of  good;  "  for 
if  the  Son  shall  make  us  free,  then  we  are  free  indeed;" 
and  when  we  are  commanded  "  to  work  out  our  sal- 
vation with  fear  and  trembling,"  that  we  may  pro- 
perly work  at  all,  we  are  told,  "it  is  God  that  worketh 
in  us  to  will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure,"  and  that 
we  are  made  "  his  willing  people  in  the  day  of  his 
power."     So  that  instead  of  being  an  enemy  to  ra- 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  233 

tional  religion,  I  cannot  see  hovV  there  can  be  any  re- 
ligion that  is  not  rational. 

Spitef.  Where,  sir,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  did  you 
get  all  these  cramp  expressions  from? 

Consid.  Why,  sir,  from  a  book  1  am  ashamed  I 
have  paid  so  little  attention  to, till  of  late,^-the  Bible: 
and  while  you  and  Mr.  Wisehead  are  attempting  to 
explain  away  all  those  fine  strong  expressions  of 
^'  conversion,  regeneration,  a  new  creation,^'  and  the 
like,  I  have  of  late  setn  that  a  peculiar  wisdom  and 
glory  belongs  to  them;  and  that  it  is  no  unmeaning 
abstruse  metaphor,  but  a  plain  downright  matter  of 
fact,  that  "  except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot 
enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 

Spitef.  I  always  thought  it  would  come  to  this, 
since  you  have  lately  taken  to  follow  your  wife  and 
daughter  to  Brookfield  church:  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
all  the  people  were  running  mad  together. 

Consid.  I  acknowledge  1  had  my  secret  prejudices, 
yet  I  could  scarcely  tell  why,  against  my  wife  and 
daughter  when  they  first  took  to  go  to  Brookfield 
church;  but  I  was  satisfied,  anger  and  opposition 
could  answer  no  good  end  whatever.  And  when  they 
requested  that  jVlr.  Lovegood  might  give  us  a  visit  at 
our  house,  soon  after  our  great  family  trial,  1  confess 
I  was  not  a  little  struck  with  his  behaviour:  and 
though  I  took  an  opportunity  to  dispute  every  inch 
of  ground,  I  thought  (from  mere  prejudice)  I  could 
rhaintain;  yet  such  was  the  force  of  truth,  and  such 
was  the  tender,  gentleman-like  and  affectionate  way 
in  which  he  treated  me,  while  I  rather  had  a  design 
to  expose  him,  by  holding  him  at  arm's  length  before 
my  wife  and  daughter,  that  I  found  myself  entirely 
disarmed;  and  frOm  that  time  I  determined  to  go  and 
hear  him  more  constantly;  for  I  discovered  him  to 

*  See  Dialogue  XXIX. 

VOL.   1.-^21 


234  VILLAGE  DIALOGllESi 

be  a  man  of  uncommonly  good  understanding,  and  of 
a  truly  Christian  spirit. 

SpUef.  And  thus,  sir,  you  have  told  us  how  you 
have  been  seduced  from  your  regular  attendance  at 
your  parish  church  by  one  of  these  artful  modern  re- 
formers. Hang  them  all !  They  will  be  the  ruin  of 
our  nation. 

Madam  Toog.  Ladles  and  gentlemen,  is  your  tea 
sweet  enough? 

Consid.  Quite  so,  I  thank  you,  ma'am;  but  I  think 
a  few  lumps  more  of  sugar  in  Mr.  Spiteful's  tea  would 
not  be  amiss,  for  there  seems  to  be  somewhat  very 
bitter  upon  his  palate  that  wants  sweetening. 

Madam  Toog.  Why,  Mr.  Spiteful,  at  times,  has 
complained  that  sugar  is  apt  to  turn  sour  on  his  sto- 
mach. 

Consid.  To  be  sour  as  well  as  bitter  at  the  same 
time  must  be  a  terrible  calamity.  Would  it  be  amiss, 
Mr.  Spiteful,  if  you  were  to  come  with  us  next  Sun- 
day to  Brookfield  church  for  some  of  Mr.  Lovegood's 
elixir?  he  has  an  excellent  recipe  to  cure  sour  sto- 
machs and  bitter  palates.  I  have  known  many  peo- 
ple that  have  been  diseased  in  the  same  way,  who 
were  afterwards  cured  by  attending  at  Brookfield 
church.  Pray,  sir,  do  any  of  the  doctors  in  your 
way  perform  such  cures? 

Spitef.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  sha'n't  put  up  with 
all  this  banter.  I  beg  you  would  be  less  free  with 
your  skits  and  jokes.  What  is  it  to  you  what  cures 
we  perform  ? 

Wiseh.  Really,  Mr.  Spiteful,  in  my  opinion,  Mr. 
Considerate  has  quite  as  much  reason  to  be  displeased 
with  you  for  your  disrespectful  speeches  against  his 
friend  Mr.  Lovegood,  as  you  have  to  be  displeased 
with  him  for  a  few  innocent  humorous  turns.  I  be- 
lieve, Mr.  Lovegood,  in  his  way,  may  be  a  very  good 
man;  notwithstanding  his  notions  in  religion  are  so 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  235 

widely  different  from  ours.  We  should  be  better 
able  to  carry  our  point,  if  you  could  deliver  your  sen- 
timents with  less  heat  and  more  deliberation. 

Spitef.  How  can  I  help  it?  What,  is  no  allowance 
to  be  made  for  a  man's  disposition? 

Consid.  I  thought  you  said  a  little  time  ago,  we 
may  do  what  we  will,  notwithstanding  our  disposi- 
tions or  inclinations.  Pray,  sir,  which  side  of  the 
question  do  you  mean  to  take  after  all — that  men 
may  will,  if  they  willy  contrary  to  their  dispositions 
and  inclinations;  or,  that  as  we  are  disposed  and  in- 
clined, so  we  will  and  act? 

Spitef.  Really,  sir,  I  wish  you  would  drop  these 
abstruse  metaphysical  discussions.  I  came  here  for 
a  little  innocent  chat,  and  not  to  enter  into  a  debate 
upon  such  a  curious  subject  as  this. 

Consid.  With  all  my  heart,  sir;  but  then  it  is  to 
be  hoped  we  are  not  all  to  be  called  fools  and  mad- 
men, because  we  suppose  it  necessary  for  a  man  to 
have  the  grace  of  God  in  his  heart,  so  that  our  evil 
dispositions  may  be  rooted  out,  and  that  we  may  feel 
ourselves  inclined  or  made  willing  to  obey.  I  don't 
think  we  pray  like  enthusiasts  when  we  pray  to  the 
Lord  after  each  command,  in  our  church  service,  that 
he  would  "  incline  our  hearts  to  keep  his  law." 

Miss  Polly.  Well,  I  declare  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  come  here  this  evening  if  I  thought  I  was  to 
hear  nothing  but  this  talk  about  religion.  I  was  in 
hopes  we  were  to  have  had  a  little  harmless  chat  and 
a  game  of  cards. 

Spitef.  I  dare  say  Mr.  Considerate  has  lately  got 
so  sanctified  that  he  would  not  touch  a  card  for  all  the 
world. 

Consid.  Why,  truly,  sir,  I  cannot  find  what  good 
we  get  by  such  sort  of  amusements,  that  are  only 
calculated  to  tempt  us  to  kill  time,  when  we  are  di- 
rected to  redeem  it;  and  how  far  we  can  or  cannot 


236  VII.LAGE  DIALOGUES. 

have  "  our  conversation  always  for  the  use  of  edify 
ing,  that  it  may  administer  grace  to  the  hearers," 
while  we  are  so  engaged,  I  suppose  is  easy  to  be  de- 
termined. 

Spitef.  What,  then,  are  we  to  be  always  saying 
our  jjrayers,  and  are  we  to  have  no  innocent  recrea- 
tions? 

Consid.  Yes,  sir,  you  know  I  am  fond  af  a  gar- 
den, and  I  have  this  day  been  recreating  myself  by 
pruning  and  training  a  peach  tree;  and  I  felt  it  all 
the  time  entirely  an  innocent  recreation:  but  I  al- 
ways found  these  games  of  hazard  and  chance  were 
unhappily  calculated  to  excite  a  spirit  of  emulation 
and  gambling,  which  have  a  tendency  to  promote  the 
worst  of  tempers;  and  though  some  may  play  with 
as  much  comparative  innocency  as  I  feJt  in  pruning 
a  fruit  tree,  yet  there  is  a  certain  bewitchery  belong- 
ing to  this  sort  of  games,  which  renders  them  at  all 
times  very  dangerous  in  themselves,  and  very  de- 
structive in  their  consequences. 

Madam  Toog.  Oh,  Mr.  Considerate,  this  is  going 
too  far.  I  really  cannot  see  that  we  need  be  quite  so 
strict,  I  love  an  innocent  game  at  cards  as  well  as  any 
body;  but  then  I  always  give  my  winnings  to  the 
poor;  but  I  am  very  sorry  I  must  not  be  one  of  the 
party  to-night,  as  it  happens  to  be  the  week  before 
sacj-ament,  and  then  I  never  touch  a  card.  Thank 
the  Almighty,  I  never  neglect  my  duty.. 

Miss  Pratcap.  Well,vvell,  I  dare  say,  ma'am,  you 
don't  think  it  necessary  that  we  young  folks  should 
wear  old  heads  on  our  shoulders.  I  am  for  being 
neither  saint  nor  sinner.  You  know,  ma'am,  my  mo- 
ther was  a  clergyman's  daughter,  and  if  the  clergy 
cannot  tell  what  is  right,  I  don't  know  who  should, 
and  she  never  brought  us  up  with  such  strict  notions 
of  religion.  I  see  no  harm  in  a  game  of  cards,  and  a 
little  cheerful  chit-chat;  God-amighty  never  gave  us 
our  tongues  for  nothing. 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  237 

Madatn  Toog.  Yes,  miss,  1  am  quite  of  your  way 
of  thinking;  but  then  while  we  are  using  our  tongues 
in  a  way  of  harmless  chat,  we  should  not  neglect, 
upon  proper  occasions,  to  use  them  for  the  purposes 
of  our  religion,  in  doing  our  duty,  and  saying  our 
prayers;  and  I  hope,  my  dear,  you'll  take  your  god- 
mother's advice  till  after  you  are  confirmed  ;  and  pro- 
perly prepare  yourself  for  that  before  the  bishop 
comes  round  next  time. 

Miss  Polly.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  necessary  to 
submit  to  all  this  trouble  for  the  salvation  of  my  soul 
till  I  am  a  deal  older. 

Madam  Toog.  0  no,  miss;  we  must  make  some 
allowance  for  youth;  when  I  was  a  lass,  I  confess  I 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  take  to  religion  so 
strictly  as  I  have  done  of  late.  I  know  that  it  re- 
quires a  deal  of  resolution  to  submit  to  "  the  trials, 
and  troubles,  and  discipline  of  a  virtuous  life.''"^ 

Consid.  Why  my  wife  and  daughter  have  for  above 
these  four  years  trudged  away  to  Mr,  Lovegood's 
almost  all  weathers,  and  it  is  a  long  walk  there  and 
back  again;  and  when  I  used  to  tell  her  the  trouble 
she  took,  till  I  found  it  was  a  pleasure  to  go  with  her 
myself,  her  answer  was,  his  "  yoke  is  easy,  and  his 
burden  h'ght,'*  and  that  "  his  ways  are  ways  of  plea- 
santness, and  all  his  paths  are  paths  of  peace." 

Madam  Toog.  0,  sir,  but  I  love  to  mortify  my- 
self m  my  religion. 

Consid.  Well,  I  am  sure  my  wife  does  not  mortify 
herself  in  her  religion;  for  she  is  always  as  happy  as 
she  well  can  be,  whenever  she  has  a  journey  to  Brook- 
field. -^Pray,  madam,  do  you  mortify  yourself  wh^n 

*  This  expression,  in  its  original  form,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
writings  of  l)r.  Priestley ;  so  that  all  the  absurdities  deducible 
from  it  are  not  to  be  charged  on  the  Old  Lady,  but  on  the 
Doctor,  the  oracle  of  the  rational  Dissenters  of  the  day, 

21* 


238  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

you  are  honest,  just,  or  sober,  or  when  you  tell  the 
truth  ? 

tMadam  Toog.  0,  no,  sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty 
better  than  all  that. 

Consid.  Why  then,  madam,  how  is  it  that  you 
mortify  yourself  when  you  serve  God? 

Spitef.  Don't  answer  him,  ma'am,  I  perceive  he  is 
upon  the  catch.  If  I  had  a  wife  and  daught^er  who 
ran  about  at  this  rate,  neglecting  their  duty  at  home, 
I  would  sooner  break  their  legs  than  suffer  it. 

Consid.  Why,  sir,  my  wife  never  neglected  her 
duty  at  home:  a  good  wife  she  was  before  she  went 
to  Brookfield  church,  and  a  better  ever  since. 

Mss  Polly.  Well,  well,  I  see  we  shall  have  no  cards 
if  we  are  to  talk  about  religion  after  this  fashion.  If 
you,  Mrs.  Toogood,  and  Mr.  Considerate  don't  like 
to  play,  I  can't  see  why  the  rest  of  us  mayn't  sit 
down  to  a  game  at  whist,  for  we  have  all  done  tea. 

Madam  Toog.  Becky  Prateapace,  my  dear,  will 
you  ring  the  bell,  that  Nelly  may  take  away  the  tea 
things,  and  bring  the  cards. 

J]liss  Prateap.  That  I  will,  madam,  with  alL  my 
heart,  and  I'll  have  Mr.  Wisehead  for  my  partner, 
and  you  shall  play  with  Mr.  Spiteful,  Miss.  Polly. 

Miss  Polly.  I  don't  care  who  I  play  with,  provided 
1  may  but  have  a  game  at  cards. 

[The  cards  are  consequently  introduced^the  parties 
settle  to  the  work,  while  the  old  lady  and  Mr.  Con- 
siderate hold  a  tele-a-iele  at  one  corner  of  the  room. 
The  reader  would  be  little  entertained  at  the  idle 
frivolous  conversation  of  the  card  table^  the  substance 
of  which  was  from  the  fertile  genius  of  Mr.  Spiteful, 
who  continued  his  occasional  invectives,  especially 
between  the  deals,  against  modern  seducers  and  en- 
thusiasts; and  among  other  things  was  running  them 
down  for  their  pretended  pharisaic  sanctity  for  doing 
so   much   more  than   their  neighbours.     This,  Mr. 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  239 

Considerate  overhearing,  asked  Mr.  Spiteful  how 
many  scholars  he  had  left  at  his  free  grammar  school? 
and  what  he  had  year  by  year  for  the  slight  attend- 
ance he  gave  to  two  or  three  children,  jqst  by  way  of 
keeping  up  the  name  of  a  school?  and  whether  it  was 
not  as  great  a  crime  for  some  to  do  too  little,  as  for 
others  to  do  too  much?  and  whether  it  would  be  con- 
sistent to  charge  an  honest  hard-working  day-labourer 
with  such  crimes  because  he  would  do  three  times 
the  work  of  an  idle  careless  fellow,  who  scarcely 
would  do  any  work  at  all?  This  so  irritated  Mr. 
Spiteful  that  it  threw  him  off  his  guard,  and  rendered 
him  quite  inattentive,  when  Miss  Polly,  as  his  part- 
ner, had  also  to  lecture  him  for  his  negligence,  de- 
claring she  had  lost  eighteen  pence  by  him  already, 
w^hile  the  grave  Mr.  Wisehead  Was  profiting  by  his 
folly;  declaring  she  would  play  with  him  no  more, 
unless  he  would  mind  his  cards.  Mr.  Considerate 
joined  with  them,  that  there  might  be  no  more  quar- 
relling, there  had  better  be  no  more  playing.  The 
hint  was  accordingly  taken;  and  as  Miss  Polly  said 
she  was  quite  out  of  luck,  the  cards  were  cleared 
away.  The  two  misses  and  the  old  lady  retired  to 
one  corner  of  the  room  for  a  little  cheap  talk  in 
their  way,  and  in  the  next  Dialogue,  the  concluding 
part  of  the  conversation  will  be  presented  to  the 
reader.]. 


DIALOGUE  XV 


CONTAINING  THE  SECOND  PART  OT  THE  SAME  CON- 
VERSATION, WHICH  WAS  THUS  INTRODUCED  BY  MR. 
CONSIDERATE. 

Consid.  I  SHOULD  be  glad  to  know,  if  any  farther 
dispute  should  arise  between  us,  how  far  we  are  to 
settle  the  controversy  by  the  Bible:  for  I  understand 
your  notions  of  the  Bible  are  very  loose — at  least  as 
I  suppose. 

Wiseli.  Just  so  far,  sir,  as  it  is  consonant  with  rea- 
son, and  no  farther;  I  nqver  can  believe  that  whicii 
contradicts  my  reason. 

Consid.  Indeed,  sir,  if  this  be  the  case,  we  are 
likely  to  be  terribly  misguided;  while  reason,  among 
our  ignorant  and  benighted  race,  appears  to  be  so 
much  under  the  influence  of  prejudice  and  passion. 
If  twenty  men  of  different  persuasions  be  called  to- 
gether, however  flatly  they  may  contradict  each 
other,  they  would  all  tell  you  they  are  guided  by 
reason, 

Spitef.  Well,  sir,  for  all  that,  I  am  quite  of  Mr. 
Wisehead's  opinion,  that  we  have  no  business  with 
the  Bible,  when  it  flatly  contradicts  our  reason, 
though  in  all  points  we  may  not  understand  it.  It 
would  be  a  fine  thing,  surely,  if  we  were*  to  believe 
what  we  cannot  comprehend,  or  else  go  to  hell  and  be 
damned ! 

Consid.  Why,  then,  sir,  am  I  so  to  understand 
you    and   Mr.   Wisehead,   as  to    suppose   you    are 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  2^1 

Atheists,  for  you  cannot  comprehend  the  incom- 
prehensible attributes  of  God ;  or  that  you  do  not 
believe  your  own  existence,  because  you  cannot  un- 
derstand the  nature  of  that  existence?  If  you  and 
Mr.  Wisehead  are  only  to  believe  the  Bible  so  far 
as  you  can  comprehend  it,  that  book,  in  your 
opinion,  is  nothing  better  tlian  a  mere  history  of  un- 
certain events;  and  then,  notwithstanding  revelation, 
we  have  nothing  left  us  but  to  guess  at  religion  as 
well  as  we  can. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  I  believe  the  book,  which  we  gene- 
rally call  the  Bible,  is  but  little  more  than  the  works 
of  good  men,  subject  to  the  same  infirmities  with 
ourselves:  who,  though  they  might  have  written  ac- 
cording  to  the  best  of  their  judgments,  were  still 
frequently  warped  by  their  national  prejudices  in 
favour  of  their  own  religion.* 

Consid.  Indeed,  gentlemen,  if  the  word  conver- 
sion should  be  inapplicable  to  young  Mr.  Henry 
Littleworth,  yet  it  cannot  be  unsuitable  to  either  of 
you;  for  Jews  and  Pagans  believe  a  part  of  the 
Bible  as  well  as  yourselves,  while  neither  you  nor 
they  give  any  more  credit  to  it,  as  the  Book  of 
Revelation,  than  I  do  to  the  History  of  Robinson 
Crusoe. 

Spitef.  Why,  really,  Mr.  Wisehead,  1  begin  to 
be  afraid  we  are  going  rather  too  far;  this  is  making 
out  the  Bible  to  be  but  little  better  than  an  old  ill- 
written  ecclesiastical  history.  Though  I  don't  ap- 
prove Lovegood's  notions  at  all  the  more  for  that. 

Wiseh.  Indeed,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  know  more 
correctly  ^-^my  opinion,  what  a  Christian  is  bound 
to  believe,  with  respect  to  the  Scriptures,  I  am  not 
afraid  to  answer,  that  the  books,  which  are  univer- 

*  See  Priestley  and  other  Socinian  writers,  passim. 


242  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

sally  received  as  authentic,  are  to  be  considered  as 
faithful  records  of  past  transactions." — "No  Chris- 
tian is  answerable  for  more  than  this,  the  writers 
of  the  books  of  Scripture  were  men,  and  therefore 
fallible:  but  all  that  we  have  to  do  with  them,  is 
in  the  character  of  historians  and  witnesses  of  what 
they  heard  and  saw;  of  course,  their  credibility  is 
to  be  estimated  like  that  of  other  historians,  viz. 
from  the  circumstances  in  which  they  wrote,  as 
with  respect  to  their  opportunities  of  knowing  the 
truth  of  what  they  relate,  and  the  biasses  to  which 
they  might  be  subject.  Like  all  other  historians 
they  are  liable  to  mistakes  with  respect  to  things  of 
small  moment,  because  theif  might  not  give  sufficient 
attention  to  them;  and  with  respect  to  their  reason- 
ing, we  are  fully  at  liberty  to  judge  of  it  as  well  as 
that  of  other  men,  by  a  due  consideration-  of  the  pro- 
positions they  advance  and  the  arguments  they  al- 
lege."—"And  if  such  men  have  even  communica- 
tions with  the  Deity,  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
they  are,  in  other  respects,  more  wise  and  knowing 
than  other  men."*  This  point,  I  suppose  to  be 
proved  by  the  ^^a^ne  account ''-f  Moses  has  given  of 
the  creation  and  fall  of  man,  having  not  the  means 
of  exact  information;  so  that,  to  suppose  ^'the  books 
of  Scripture  were  written  by  particular  divine  inspi- 
ration, is  a  thing  to  which  the  writers  themselves 
make  no  pretensions :  it  is  a  notion  destitute  of  all 
proof,  and  that  has  done  great  injury  to  the  evidence 
of  Christianity.":]:  As  to  Paul's  Epistles,  therefore, 
and  the  other  Epistles,  I  never  can  admit  that  the 
authors  of  them  were  immediately  inspired  for  th 
purpose  of  writing  them. 

t  See  Priestley's  Letters  to  a  Philosophical  Unbeliever, 
Part  n.  Pref.  p.  xiii.  and  Let.  V. 
t  Priestley. 
I  Priestley's  Letters,  p.  58. 


DIALOGUE  XIV.  243 

Considi  Well,  sir,  this  is  speaking  out  with  a  wit- 
ness. I  don't  think  one  Deist  in  ten  would  have 
spoken  more  decidedly  against  the  Scriptures.  Pray, 
sir,  if  such  be  your  judgment  on  the  Epistles,  what 
are  we  to  think  of  the  Gospels? 

Wiseh.  0,  sir,  I  have  no  doubt  but  all  the  four 
evangelists,  as  they  are  called,  were  very  honest 
men,  and  that  they  wrote  the  "history  of  Jesus'^ 
according  to  the  best  of  their  judgment;  though 
we  suspect  their  genuine  histories  have  been  inter- 
mixed with  many  interpolations;  and,  it  appears, 
that  "some  texts  of  the  Old  Testament  have  been 
improperly  quoted  by  writers  of  the  New,"  who  it 
seems  were  sometimes  ^'misled  by  Jewish  pre- 
judices."* Surely,  therefore,  it  must  be  owned 
that  "  some  obscurity "  is  left  in  the  Scriptures 
themselves,  which  might  mislead  readers  full  of 
Heathen  prejudices,  and  so  left,  it  should  seem,  to 
whet  human  industry  and  the  spirit  of  inquiry;"! 
and  "the  Bereans  are  commended  for  not  taking 
the  word  even  of  an  apostle,  but  examining  the 
Scriptures  for  themselves;  whether  the  doctrine 
which  they  heard  was  true,  and  whether  St.  Paul's 
reasoning  was  just."  J  Such,  sir,  are  the  sentiments 
of  all  our  great  divines  who  have  written  on  this 
subject. 

Consid.  Are  we  then  to  suppose  that  the  Bereans 
searched  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  under  any 
other  idea  but  that  their  decisions  were  definitive? 
I  should  have  thought,  when  they  searched  the 
Scriptures,  they  referred  to  them  as  an  infallible 
guide.  If  they  had  only  to  look  into  the  lame  ac- 
count Moses  gives  of  matters,  1   do  not  know  that 

*  Theological  Repository.     See  Fuller's  Systems,  p.  238. 

t  Lindsey's  Apology,  ch.  2. 

i  Belsham's  Sermon  on  the  Importance  of  Truth,  p.  39. 


244  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

any  thing  but  confusion  could  be  the  result  of  their 
diligence. 

Wiseh.  Well,  well,  sir,  I  cannot  give  up  the  point: 
we  must  be  guided  by  our  reason  as  it  respects  re- 
velation. 

Consid.  Allow  me  then,  sir,  to  ask  you  this  plain 
question.  If  we  are  to  be  guided  alone  by  our  reason, 
while  we  are  at  liberty  to  doubt  every  word  of  Re- 
velation; are  we  to  call  this  Infidelity  or  Christianity? 
or  is  not  Deism  far  more  rational  and  consistent  than 
such  sort  of  Christianity? 

Wiseh.  0,  sir,  we  are  still  beliievers  in  the  Chris- 
tian religion. 

Consid.  Why,  then.  Christian  believers  are  at  li- 
berty to  doubt  th6  certainty  of  every  truth  of  Re- 
velation itself;  even  Jews  and  Mahommedans  believe 
a  part  of  the  Bible,  but  deny  the  rest.  I  beg  leave, 
therefore,  farther  to  ask,  if  this  be  Christianity,  what 
is  Infidelity? 

Wiseh.  Sir,  the  question  is  easily  answered;  some 
few  infidels  doubt,  whether  there  ever  was  such  a 
person  as  Jesus  Christ;  and  others  of  th'em  think 
there  is  no  future  state;  but  we  all  believe  there 
will  be  a  future  state,  and  that  there  w^as  such  a 
person  as  Jesusy  the  son  of  Mary;  but  then  we  do 
not  conceive  ourselves  bound  to  believe  the  story  of 
his  miraculous  conception,  or  his  pre-existenee,  as 
it  is  called,  or  the  strange  inconsistent  mysterious 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity:  and,  among  other  ^»  cor- 
ruptions of  Christianity,"  contrary  to  what  we  es- 
teem the  rational  and  "the  true  Gospel  of  Christ," 
we  reject  what  is  commonly  called  the  doctrine  of 
the  atonement:"  "  in  every  shape  and  under  every 
modification  of  it,  it  is  unfounded  in  the  Christian 
revelation."*      Nor  can  we  believe,   that   there  is 

*  Belsham's  Caution  against  Popular  Errors,  p.  15. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  245 

any  such  being  as  the  Holy  Spirit.  Consequently 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  abstruse  notion  of 
regeneration,  or,  as  it  is  called,  the  work  of  the  Spi- 
rit; we  believe  that  such  sort  of  expressions  are  to 
be  taken  as  oriental  figures^  or  as  'Hropical  language;-' 
and,  that  it  only  means  a  good  disposition.  'We, 
therefore,  consequently,  deny  the  popular  doctrine 
of  original  sin,*  as  there  is  quite  as  much  virtue  as 
vice  in  the  world:  we  have  no  doubt  at  all,  as  to  the 
devil,  that  he  is  entirely  a  fabulous  character;  and  as 
to  what  is  said  concerning  tiiose  who  were  possessed 
of  the  devil,  it  were  irrational  to  suppose,  that  it  could 
mean  any  thing  farther  than  that  "they  were  m.ad, 
or  had  hysteric  fits:^'  as  to  the  existence  of  angels, 
"though  there  are  frequent  allusions  to  it  in  the  New 
Testament,"  yet  it  is  "a  doctrine  that  cannot  be  proved 
or  made  probable  from  the  light  of  nature;"  and 

*Mr.  Belsham,  in  his  discourse  ag-ainst  what  he  calls  Po- 
pular Errors,  and  from  which  Mr.  VVisehead  is  now  making 
extracts,  speakin^^  against  original  sin,  insinuates,  as  though 
we  believed  in  the  damnation  of  infants.  Can  he  be  so  ig- 
norant of  matters  of  fact  as  not  to  know  that  the  insinuation 
is  utterly  false?*  I  think  he  must  know  liow  universally  it 
is  admitted  among  the  people  he  thus  slanders,  that  the 
imputation  of  the  tirst  Adam's  guilt  is  utterly  done  away,  by 
the  imputation  of  the  second  Adam's  righteousness,  among 
all  those,  who  have  not  sinned  wiltAiliy  or  deliberately,  after 
the  similitude  of  Adam's  transgression.  We  shall  presently 
see  other  methods  adopted,  to  evade  the  awful  truth  of  man's 
depravity,  as  held  forth  in  Scripture,  and  evidenced  by  uni- 
versal experience;  but,  I  think,  the  reader  will  not  be  a  little 
struck  with  horror  and  surprise,  when  he  notes  the  following 
extract  from  the  above-mentioned  sermon:  "  This  abomina- 
ble doctrine  [Original  Sin]  represents  the  ivise  and  righ- 
teous Governor  of  the  universe,  as  a  more  savage  tyrant, 
than  the  most  merciless  despot  that  ever  cursed  the  human 
race,^^  p.  19.  Such  is  the  horrid  language  of  one  of  those 
gentlemen  who  wish  to  be  famed  for  their  moderation ! ! ! 

*  See  "  Infant  Salvation,"  an  Essay,  &.c. 
VOL.  I. .22 


246  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

what  have  we  got  to  do  with  the  New  Testament, 
while  it  contradicts  the  light  of  nature?  Notwith- 
standing, therefore,  the  allusion,  we  choose  to  say, 
"this  is  no  where  taught  as  a  doctrine  of  revelation. 
A  judicious  Christian,  therefore,  will  discard  it  from 
his  creed;  and,  that,  not  only  as  a  groundless,  but  as 
a  useless  and  pernicious  tenet,  which  tends  to  diminish 
our  regard  to  the  omniscient,  omnipotent,  and  omni- 
present God,  and  to  excite  superstitious  respect  to, 
and  unreasonable  expectations  from,  imaginary  and 
jiciilious  beings.'^*  When,  therefore,  we  hear  how 
Jesus  was  tempted  of  the  devil  in  the  wilderness,  it 
was,  (for  we  always  talk  very  rationally  in  our  way,) 
only  an  allusion  to  a  fictitious  being;  and  the  proper, 
and  most  rational  meaning  is,  that  he  was  fighting 
with  some  good  and  bad  thoughts  which  alternately 
possessed  him;  but  such  were  the  Eastern  metaphors 
and  Oriental  figures  then  in  use. 

Consid.  Then,  sir,  might  it  not  have  sounded  still 
more  rational  had  you  made  it  out  that  he  was  fight- 
ing with  two  Eastern  metaphors,  or  Oriental  figures? 
that  when  the  angel  spoke  to  Zacharias  about  the 
birth  of  John,  the  forerunner  of  our  Lord,  he  should 
not  have  said,  "1  am  Gabriel,"  but  "I  am  an  Oriental 
figure?"  and  that  it  was  nothing  but  an  Oriental  figure 
that  spoke  to  Mary  on  the  same  subject?  and  that 
Eastern  metaphors,  or  Oriental  figures  appeared  unto 
the  shepherds,  and  sang  "Glory  to  God  in  the  high- 
est, on  earth  peace,  good  will  towards  men;"  and 
then  again,  that  our  Lord  had  another  meeting  of 
these  Eastern  metaphors  and  Oriental  figures  in  the 
mount  of  transfiguration?  that  an  Eastern  metaphor 
opened  the  prison  in  which  Peter  was  confined,  and 
that  an  Oriental  figure  knocked  off  his  fetters?  that 
Paul  was  converted  at  the  sight  of  these  Eastern 

*  Belsham's  Caution,  p.  21, 


DIALOGUE  XV.  247 

metaphors?  that  Stephen  saw  somewhat  of  the  like 
sort  when  he  was  stoned?  and  that  an  Eastern  meta- 
phor stood  by  Paul  when  near  shipwrecked?  And 
if  these  be  not  enough,  I  could  give  you  some  farther 
lucubrations  on  your  rational  way  of  explaining  these 
Eastern  metaphors.* 

*  The  Socinians  suppose  they  have  a  right  to  take  such 
preposterous  liberties  on  this  subject,  because  these  spiritual 
existences  are  described  as  being  "powers  and  virtues;" 
therefore  they  are  not  real  existences,  but  figurative  allusions. 
We  will  produce  a  few  more  passages  where  the  real  exist- 
ence  of  such  spirits  is  positively  mentioned,  and  then  we 
shall  see  how  far  common  sense  will  befriend  them  in  their 
rational  religion. 

Beelzebub,  tiie  prince  of  the  devils — the  prince  of  the  eastern 
metaphors. 

Unto  which  of  the  Angels  (oriental  figures)  said  he  at  any 
time,  This  day  have  I  begotten  then?  Let  all  the  angels  of 
God  (eastern  metaphors)  worship  him? 

Our  Lord  cast  out  a  whole  legion  of  eastern  metaphors 
from  the  man  among  the  tombs,  and  the  same  set  of  eastern 
metaphors  drove  the  swine  into  the  sea. 

"  Whether  there  be  thrones,  dominions,  principalities,  and 
powers?"     All  tropical  language — only  eastern  metaphors. 

Christ  ''spoiled  principalities  and  powers:"  he  spoiled 
eastern  metaphors  and  oriental  figures. 

The  ministering  spirits  **  sent  forth  to  minister  to  those 
who  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation,"  these  are  also  to  be  under- 
stood as  nonentities  or  oriental  figures. 

"The  angels  (oriental  figures)  who  kept  not  their  first 
estate." 

'*  There  was  fire  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels," 
(for  an  eastern  metaphor  and  his  oriental  figures) — But 
enough  of  this  from  the  New  Testament,  by  way  of  giving  a 
fair  specimen  of  the  wisdom  of  those  who  can  bestow  such 
high  compliments  on  themselves,  and  on  the  rationality  of 
their  religion, 

A  few  instances  from  the  Old  Testament  shall  also  be 
given  as  farther  embellishments  of  these  rational  evasions. 

An  angel  appeared  to  Manoali,  foretold  the  birth  of  Samuel, 
and  instructed  him  respecting  his  education:  his  appearance 
was  very  terrible  or  glorious;  he  did  wondrously,  and  in  the 
flame  of  a  sacrifice  ascended  into  glory.  All  this  was  done 
by  an  eastern  metaphor. 


24S  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  all  our  great  divines  are  not  quite  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking,  concerning  these  matters; 
for  some  of  them  have  thought,  that  St.  Paul,  when 
he  conceived  he  saw  the  vision,  was  under  a  tempo- 

An  angel  was  commissioned  to  punish  Israel  with  a  tre- 
mendous plague,  when  David  numbered  the  people;  it  is  said, 
"the  angel  of  the  Lord  stretched  out  his  hand."  N.  B.  East- 
ern metaphors  have  got  hands;  and  again,  the  Angel  of  the 
Lord  stood  between  the  earth  and  the  heaven,  having  a  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand.  N.  B.  Tropical  figures  carry  drawn 
swords.  We  are  farther  told,  "  The  angel  of  the  Lord  stood 
by  the  threshing-floor  of  Araunah  the  Jebusite."  N.  B.  These 
standings,  and  movings,  and  actings,  were  all  accomplished 
by  an  eastern  metaphor. 

The  angel  of  the  Lord  that  encamped  around  his  people, 
when  he  brought  them  out  of  Egypt,  first  stood  before  them, 
and  then  went  behind  them.  Strange,  that  nothing  but  a 
tropical  figure  should  have  had  such  an  influence  on  Pharaoh 
and  all  his  hosts !  , 

Again,  Abraham  had  a  visit  from  three  of  these  eastern 
metaphors,  and  he  was  so  sure  of  their  positive  existence, 
that  he  prepared  an  entertainment  for  them.  While  the  plen- 
tiful repast  was  all  in  the  eastern  style;  and  very  properly, 
for  he  had  to  entertain  three  eastern  metaphors.  There  was 
also  a  long  conversation  held  between  these  eastern  meta- 
phors, and  Abraham,  Sarah,  and  Lot;  and  we  are  told  of  the 
great  care  they  all  took  to  deliver  that  righteous  man  out  of 
Sodom.  This  is  a  notable  proof  what  a  wonderful  book  will 
be  exhibited  before  the  world,  when  their  rational  comment 
upon  the  Scriptures  shall  appear  to  illuminate  the  human 
mind. 

The  last  instance  which  we  will  produce,  out  of  a  large 
variety,  shall  be  taken  from  the  history  of  Balaam.  The  ass 
of  the  soothsayer  was  thrice  opposed  by  the  angel  of  the 
Lord,  that  is,  by  an  eastern  metaphor,  and  by  this°means  he 
crushed  his  foot  against  the  wall.  The  Lord  spoke  to  him, 
as  through  the  mouth  of  the  dumb  ass,  and  thus  "  forbade  the 
madness  of  the  prophet."  What  a  strange  timid  ass  must 
Balaam's  ass  have  been,  to  have  been  so  afraid  of  a  tropical 
figure;  or  what  stupid  asses  must  those  be  who  thus  interpret 
the  word  of  God?  or  what  brainless  asses  we  all  must  be  to 
abide  by  interpretations  so  preposterous  and  absurd?  And 
if  this  be  not  sufficient  to  expose  the  folly  of  the  saddusaic 
spirit  of  the  day,  nothing  is. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  .249 

rary  derangement;  and,  perhaps,  Stephen  might  have 
had  a  short  phrensy-fit  like  Paul ;  and  as  for  the  stor}'- 
of  the  temptation  of  Jesus  in  the  wilderness,  that  has 
been  supposed  to  be  nothing  more  than  the  narrative 
of  a  vision, — or  ''a  scenical  exhibilion  of  images  upon  the 
mind  of  the  entranced  prophet."^ 

Considx  So  that  it  is  to  be  supposed,  that  Christ 
slept  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  and  afterwards  re- 
lated his  dreams. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  such  is  the  way  our  divines  have  solved 
the  difficulty. 

Consid.  Do  you  mean,  by  all  this,  to  prove  that 
your  system,  if  it  deserve  the  name,  has  nothing  to 
do  with  infidelity  ?•}■ 

*  Harwood's  New  Testament. 

f  Had  Mr.  Considerate  entered  more  deeply  into  the  contro- 
versy by  arguing  from  the  authority  of  the  Scriptures  against 
the  sentiments  of  Mr.  Wisehcad,  according  to  his  new  notions 
of  the  volume  of  inspiration,  it  could  have  been  of  no  avail; 
for  if  men  of  such  sentiments  cannot  succeed,  by  quirks  and 
quibbles,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  most  unnatural  far-fetched  in- 
terpretations, the  next  business  is  to  invalidate  the  book  it- 
self, agreeably  to  the  samples  above  given :  so  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  deal  with  a  Socinian,  but  as  you  would  with  a 
Deist.  The  arguments,  therefore,  taken  up  by  Lardner  on 
the  Credibility  of  the  Gospels,  and  again  lately  brought  for- 
ward  against  the  Deists  by  Paley,*  will  prove  the  best  answers 
against  the  Socinian  notions  of  the  Bible.  And  I  think  those 
modern  perverters  of  Christianity  must  know  how  widely 
they  differ  from  the  primitive  Christians  as  it  relates  to  the 
authority  of  the  sacred  volume.  Brevity  allows  me  to  men- 
tion only  some  of  the  expressions  during  the  first  ages  of  the 
church,  as  they  are  to  be  found  in  Paley,  p.  230 — 282.  Theo- 
philus,  Bishop  of  Antioch,  says,  "  these  things  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures teach,  and  all  who  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Spirit/' — 
"  Concerning,  the  righteousness  which  the  law  teaches,  the 
like  things  are  to  be  found  in  the  Prophets  and  the  Gospels, 

♦Though  no  man  has  written  better  respecting  the  authenticity  of  revela- 
tion, yet  few  have  gone  so  far  in  giving  up  many  of  the  divine  truths  therein 
contained.  His  later  publications,  however,  evidently  manifest  a  nearer  ap- 
proach to  the  essential  doctrines  of  the  Gospel. 

22* 


250  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  we  disown  the  charge,  we  are  not  such 
infidels  as  to  deny  tlie  divine  mission  of  Jesus;  though 
we  believe  he  is  in  himself  to  be  considered  "as  a 
mere  man,  and  naturally  as  fallible  and  peccable, 
as  Moses  or  any  other  prophet;*  yet,  that  he  was 
commissioned  by  the  Supreme  Being,  to  instruct 
mankind  in  the  pure  principles  of  morality,  so  far 
as  he  understood  them;  for,  "though  we  admit  that 
Jesus  taught  the  truth  in  a  popular  way,  yet  we  very 
much  doubt,  whether,  in  some  instances,  he  properly 
and  accurately  understood  it!!!f 

Consid.  Is  this  the  voice  of  Mr.  Wisehead,  or  the 
ghost  of  some  departed  infidel,  that  is  uttering  such 
dangerous  and  profane  insinuations  against  the  per- 
son and  character  of  our  blessed  Lord?     If  this  be 

because  that  all  being  inspired,  spoke  by  one  and  the  same 
Spirit!"  They  are  therefore  frequently  called  the  divine 
Scriptures — "the  sacred  fountain  of  truth:"  and  Origen 
(against  Celsus,)  declares,  that  both  Jewish  and  New  Testa- 
ment Scriptures  are  believed  in  the  churches  to  be  divine. 

Novatus  says,  that  "  Christ  is  not  only  man,  but  God  also, 
is  proved  by  the  sacred  authority  of  the  divine  writings.— The 
divine  Scripture  easily  detects  and  confutes  the  frauds  of  he- 
retics;" and  he  calls  them  "the  heavenly  Scriptures  which 
never  deceive.^'  Farther,  in  all  the  controversies  between 
the  Arians,  Athanasians,  and  the  admirers  of  Origen's  plato- 
nic  notions,  however  some  of  them  differed  from  the  truths 
contained  in  the  Scriptures,  yet  they  always  acknowledged 
their  decision  was  definitive:  That  they  were  the  certain  guide 
to  truth,  given  for  that  purpose  by  God  himself:  "  The  di- 
vinely inspired  Scriptures."  I  therefore  observe,  that  the 
modern  notion  of  the  Bible,  as  it  is  now  before  us,  presents 
us  with  one  of  the  boldest  attacks  yet  ever  made  on  its  sacred 
authority,  and  it  is  unsupported  by  all  writers  almost  in  every 
age  of  the  church,  nor  can  they  produce  in  support  of  such 
sentiments  any  other  argument  than  bold  unqualified  asser- 
tions from  their  own  authority.  Had  they  searched  into  an- 
tiquity, they  would  have  been  more  modest  and  better  taught. 

*  Priestlsy's  Letters  to  an  Unbeliever,  p.  33—35. 

t  Priestley  on  Necessity. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  251 

his  just  character,  what  good  can  we  get  by  following 
such  an  uncertain  leader?  and  what  can  we  expect 
from  the  Bible  itself;  but  that  it  will  distract  and 
puzzle  the  minds  of  all  who  read  it? 

Wiseh.  Dear  sir,  I  am  sorry  you  should  be  so 
alarmed,  but  1  only  meant  to  soften  matters  by  show- 
ing you,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  those  well-intentioned 
men,  who  became  the  followers  of  Jesus,  who  was  a 
fallible  and  peccable  man,  and  had  only  a  popular  way 
of  preaching  what  he  did  not  properly  and  accurately 
understand:  I  say  it  cannot  be  wondered  at,  if  they 
also  blundered,  and  mistook  matters  still  more  fre- 
quently than  their  master. 

Mrs.  Toogood.  Why,  Mr.  Wisehead,  you  quite 
shock  me;  it  appears  as  though  you  believed  next  to 
nothing  about  our  Blessed  Saviour,  or  that  there  is 
scarcely  either  God  or  devil — though  I  don't  join  in 
with  Mr.  Lovegood,  and  his  followers,  in  running 
down  all  man's  merits;  yet,  I  am  sure,  I  don't  know 
what  we  should  do  without  our  Saviour's  merits  also, 
to  make  up  our  deficiencies,  after  we  have  done  our 
duty  as  well  as  we  can. 

Consid.  Wiiy,  madam,  I  am  not  a  little  alarmed, 
as  well  as  j-ourself;  for,  according  to  this,  almost  the 
whole  of  Christianity,  allowed  by  reason,  is,  whether 
Jesus  Christ  was  a  good  man  or  an  impostor,  and 
even  that  is  a  matter  of  doubt,  for  now  it  seems  he 
\s  peccable  as  well  as  fallible. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  1  think  I  can  make  it  out,  that  Jesus 
was  actually  peccable  as  well  as  fallible,  though  you 
seem  to  be  so  shocked  at  our  "true  Gospel,"  and 
rational  notions  of  religion;  and  of  this,  I  will  give 
you  an  instance.  He  frequently  accommodated  his 
doctrine  to  the  vulgar  errors  of  the  day:  and  I  have 
before  observed,  that  the  doctrine  of  angels  and  devils 
was  a  pernicious  tenet,  and  which  tended  to  diminish  our 
regard  to  the  omniscient,  omnipresent,  and  omnipotent 


252  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

God;  and  though  Jesus  icas  his  mere  servant,  yet  "he 
seems  to  use  the  word  soul,  as  though  expressive  of 
something  distinct  from  the  body;  but  if  he  did, 
which,  however,  is  not  certain,  he  might  do  it  in  con- 
formity with  the  prevailing  opinion  of  the  times,  in  the 
same  manner  as  he  applies  being  possessed  of  demons 
to  madmen,  and  speal<s  to  madmen  as  if  they  were 
actuated  by  evil  spirits,  though  he  certainly  did 
not  believe  the  existence  of  such  demons.^' 

Consid.  I  think,  sir,  you  have  now  done  the  bu- 
siness completely. 

Spitef.  Though  I  hate  Lovegood's  enthusiasm,  yet 
I  think  you  are  almost  as  far  gone  in  infidelity  as 
he  is  in  enthusiasm.  I  really  did  not  suppose  that 
your  rational  religion  would  have  brought  you  to  all 
this! 

Wiseh.  Sir,  I  am  only  "removing  the  rubbish, 
which  loads  and  disgraces  the  foundation/^-f- 

Consid.  It  appears  to  me,  as  if  you  were  not.  only 
clearing  away  what  you  call  rubbish,  but  foundation 
and  all;  but  have  you  done,  sir? 

Wiseh.  No,  sir;  I  confess  there  are  other  errone- 
ous and  irrational  notions  which  we  equally  disap- 
prove: for  instance,  "The  doctrine  of  an  intermedi- 
ate state,  or  a  state  of  conscious  existence  between 
death  and  the  resurrection;"  this  must  be  "discarded, 
if  we  are  desirous  to  regulate  our  faith  by  the  standard 
of  reason,  of  truth,  and  of  Christianity.'':): 

Consid.  Of  Christianity!  why  did  not  Christ  say 
to  the  thief,  "This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in 
Paradise?" 

Wiseh.  Oh,  sir,  but  you  have  not  considered  the 
proper  rational  interpretation  of  that  text,  as  given 
by  our  learned  divines;  they  only  just  alter  the  stop, 

*  Priestley  on  Matter  and  Spirit.       f  Belsham's  Caution. 
J  Belsham's  Caution. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  253 

and  then  it  reads — "Verily  I  say  unto  thee  this  day; 
— thou  shalt  be  with  me  in  Paradise." 

Consid.  A  capital  proof  indeed  this,  of  the  rationa- 
lity of  your  divines!  but  do  they  mean  this  as  an 
argument  or  a  joke?  for,  according  to  this,  I  might 
say  to  a  poor  man  who  was  half  starving,  "Verily  1 
say  unto  you  this  day; — 1  will  give  you  a  loaf  of 
bread;"  and  when,  for  several  days  I  delay  my  pro- 
mise, and  he  accuses  me  of  a  breach  of  my  word,  1 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  say,  he  did  not  understand 
my  stops;  and  that  I  was  not  bound  to  fulfil  my  pro- 
mise for  a  month  after  1  had  made  it."  And  again, 
if  a  physician  says — "To-day  I  say;  I'll  visit  such  a 
poor  man,  ill  of  a  fever;"  but  still  delays  till  his 
patient  dies,  and  is  accused  of  cruelty;  yet  all  this 
arose  from  their  neglect,  in  not  observing  to  mind 
where  the  physician  designed  to  have  made  his  stops; 
and  the  same  sort  of  joke,  (for  I  cannot  call  it  argu- 
ment.) has  been  played  off  by  your  divines,  on  the 
words  of  Thomas,  when  he  said,  "My  Lord  and  my 
God;"  as  if  it  was  said  in  a  fit  of  sudden  surprise^ 
and  meant  nothing.  The  exclamation  can,  therefore, 
only  be  accounted  for,  on  the  profane  principle  of 
^'taking  the  Lord's  name  in  vain."  But  it  is  well 
known  that  the  Jews,  even  with  a  superstitious  awe, 
abstained  from  mentioning  the  Lord's  name,  lest  at 
any  time  they  should  take  his  sacred  name  in  vain. 

Wiseh.  0,  sir,  if  you  do  not  like  this  interpretation, 
you  should  remember,  that  I  have  already  proved, 
that  Jesus  was  hoih  fallible  and  peccable;  so  that,  in 
this  respect  also,  he  might  be  under  the  necessity 
("though  I  do  not  think  that  our  Lord  or  his  apos- 
tles rightly  understood  the  doctrine  of  necessity,"*) 
of  saying  something  he  did  not  believe,  in  conformity 
to  the  prevailing  opinion  of  the  times. 

*  Priestley  on  Necessity. 


254  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Consid.  Ah!  sir,  what  shocking  language  is  this! 
Did  then  our  holy  Redeemer  not  only  preach  lies, 
but  even  die  with  a  lie  in  his  mouth?  And  is  all  this 
to  prove  you  are  no  infidel?  Could  any  infidel  upon 
earth  advance  a  doctrine  more  abominable  and  pro- 
fane? and  can  you  wonder  that  so  many  of  your  sen- 
timents make  such  an  easy  transition  into  downright 
infidelity  itself?  But  have  you  any  more  rubbish  to 
clear  away  ? 

Wiseh.  Yes,  sir,  the  obligation  of  sabbatical  insti- 
tutions. 

Consid.  Is  that  rubbish  also? 

Wiseh.  Rubbish,  sir,  it  is  all  Jewish  rubbish,  "that 
one  day  should  be  more  holy  than  another ;  or  that 
any  occupation  whatever,  that  is  morally  lawful  on 
one  day,  should  be  morally  unlawful  on  another,  is 
a  distinction  unfounded  in  reason,  wholly  unautho- 
rized by  Jesus  and  his  apostles,  and  unknown  in  the 
primitive  and  purest  ages  of  the  church."* 

Consid.  Why,  then  there  would  be  no  great  harm 
directly  as  your  Doctor,  or  Mr.  Smirking,  gets  out 
of  the  pulpit,  if  all  three  of  you  were  to  run  together 
to  the  play-house.  But  what  a  wonderful  knack 
you  gentlemen  have  of  proving  your  point,  by  bold 
unqualified  assertions,  provided  you  bring  your  ra- 
iionality  to  support  them!  According  to  my  read- 
ing, however,  the  abstinence  from  menial  labour  that 
we  might  devote  ourselves  to  God  one  day  in  seven, 
was  ordained  from  the  very  creation  of  the  world; 
and  is  therefore  no  new  institution  belonging  to  the 
Jewish  economy;  and  this  which  also  was  from  the 
very  first,  has  been  as  invariably  observed  through 
the  Christian  dispensation.  I  am  not  a  little  sur- 
prised at  the  quick  riddance  you  make  of  what  you 
gentlemen  call  rubbish. 

*  Belsham's  Caution,  p.  26. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  255 

JVisch.  Sir,  I  have  only  followed  a  great  author 
in  our  way,  in  what  has  been  called  rubbish;  and, 
remember  the  last  thing  he  mentioned  as  rubbish 
was,  "the  plenary  inspiration  of  all  the  books,  both 
of  the  Jewish  and  Christian  Scriptures^  which  he  es- 
teems an  error,  that  an  inquisitive  and  judicious  Chris- 
tian will  see  abundant  reason  to  discard."* 

Consid.  I  think  that  has  been  plentifully  settled 
already.  If  the  greatest  prophet  in  all  the  Bible 
was  but  a  fallible  and  peccable  man,  no  wonder  that 
we  had  nothing  i)etter  than  a  lame  account  of  matters 
from  the  rest  of  them  ;  so  that,  from  the  Bible  it- 
self, the  worst  of  errors  have  originated.  Millions 
have  positively  been  misguided  thereby.  Where 
one  person  is  set  right,  at  least  a  hundred  have  been 
led  wrong,  by  the  same  book,  and  in  a  variety  of 
instances;  and  so  grossly  misguided,  as  that  a  mere 
man  is  almost  universally  worshipped  as  the  eternal 
God;  and  con^sequently,  such  have  fallen  into  the 
grossest  idolatry  by  the  ill-judged  language  of  its 
mistaken  authors.  Is  not  this  making  out  the  Bible 
to  be  the  worst-written  book  in  the  world,  which  is 
only  to  be  understood  by  a  set  of  the  most  extrava- 
gant and  far-fetched  interpretations,  invented  by  a 
set  of  men,  who  are  pleased  to  set  themselves  up  as 
being  more  rational  than  the  rest  of  their  neigh- 
bours? But  have  you  now  done  with  your  rubbish, 
sir? 

Wiseh.  Not  quite,  sir;  for  another  admired  writer 
of  ours  speaks  about  some  strange  and  irrational  no- 
tions respecting  heaven,  as  being  rubbish. 

Consid.  What  then,  are  our  expectations  of  heaven 
and  glory  to  be  esteemed  rubbish? 

Wiseh.  Why,  sir,  you  know  there  are  some  vi- 
sionary notions  about  intellectual  happiness  swim- 

♦  Belsham's  Caution,  p.  27. 


256  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

ming  upon  the  surface  of  some  people's  brains,  about 
a  heaven  independent  of  a  material  existence;  and  as 
our  reason  will  not  allow  us  to  suppose  there  is  any 
existence,  but  that  which  is  material;  so  we  conse- 
quently expect  a  material  heaven,  made  up  at  least 
of  some  of  the  same  enjoyments  we  have  in  our  pre- 
sent state.  We  have  no  notion  of  that  super-angelic 
state  of  happiness  which  some  people  are  so  fond  of 
talking  of. 

Consid.  Then  it  should  seem  your  notion  of  hea- 
ven is  very  nearly  similar  to  that  of  another  great 
divine  in  the  east,  from  whence  the  metaphors  come, 
doctor  Mohammed,  who  was  also  in  many  other 
points  of  your  way  of  thinking;  and  he  was  quite  as 
much  a  believer  in  Jesus,  as  a  great  prophet,  as  your- 
selves. Count  Swedenborg  has  also  diverted  his  ad- 
mirers with  the  same  sort  of  speculation  respecting 
his  views  of  a  material  heaven.  Sir,  will  you  enter- 
tain us  a  little  longer  with  a  farther  descant  on  i/our 
m.aterial  heaven? 

Miss  Polly  (overhears.)  Well,  I  confess  I  should 
like  such  a  sort  of  heaven  as  yours  best;  I  should 
not  like  to  be  psalm-singing  and  serving  God  to  all 
eternity. 

Miss  Praleapace.  And  1  should  like  the  same  sort 
of  heaven  as  you  do.  Miss  Polly.  I  should  be 
afraid  heaven  would  be  a  strange,  melancholy  and 
mopish  place,  if  we  had  nothing  better  than  reli- 
gion. 

Consid.  But,  ladies,  I  hope  you  won't  interrupt 
Mr.  Wisehead  in  giving  us  a  farther  description  of 
his  expected  heaven;  I  ratlier  suppose  he'll  make  it 
out  to  be  a  very  curious  place. 

Wisch.  Sir,  though  you  seem  to  ridicule  my  no- 
tions of  a  future  state,  yet  I  shall  not  be  afraid  to 
give  you  a  full  view  of  the  happiness  expected  after 
the  resurrection  by  those  of  our  denomination,  in 


DIALOGUE  XV.  257 

the  words  of  one  of  our  wisest  and  most  rational  di- 
vines: "The  change  of  our  condition  by  death,  says 
this  author,  may  not  be  so  great  as  we  are  apt  to 
imagine.  As  our  natures  will  not  be  changed,  but 
only  improved,  we  have  no  reason  to  think  that  the 
future  icorld  (which  will  be  adapted  to  our  merely 
improved  nature)  will  be  raaterlally  different  from 
this.  And  indeed  why  should  we  ask,  or  expect  any 
thing  more?  If  we  should  still  be  obliged  to  pro- 
vide for  our  subsistence  by  exercise,  or  labour;  is 
that  a  thing  to  be  complained  of  by  those  who  are 
supposed  to  have  acquired  fixed  habits  of  industry", 
becoming  rational  beings,  and  who  have  never  been 
able  to  bear  the  languor  of  absolute  rest,  or  indo- 
lence? Our  future  happiness  has  with  much  reason 
been  supposed  to  arise  from  an  increase  of  know- 
ledge. But  if  we  should  have  nothing  more  than 
the  means  of  knowledge  furnished  us  as  we  have 
here,  and  be  left  to  our  own  labour  to  find  it  out, 
is  that  to  be  complained  of  by  those  who  will  have 
acquired  both  a  love  of  truth,  and  a  habit  of  inquiring 
after  it]  To  make  discoveries  ourselves,  though 
the  search  may  require  time  and  labour,  is  unspeak- 
ably more  pleasing  than  to  learn  every  thing  by  the 
information  of  others.  If  the  immortality  that  is 
promised  to  us  in  the  Gospel  should  not  he  necessary 
and  absolute,  and  we  should  only  have  the  certain 
means  of  making  ourselves  immortal,  we  should 
have  much  to  be  thankful  for.  What  the  scriptures 
inform  us  concerning  a  future  life  is  expressed  in 
general  terms,  and  often  in  figurative  language.  A 
more  particular  knowledge  of  it  is  wisely  concealed 
from  us."* 

J\Irs.  Toog.  'Las,  sir,  I  think  you  must  be  of  the 
Sadducees'    religion;    for   when  I  was  reading   the 

*  Priestley's  Sermon  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Robinson,  p.  18. 
VOL.  I.— 23 


258  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

psalms  and  lessons  the  other  day,  I  minded  how  out 
Lord  contradicted  the  wicked  notion  of  the  Saddu- 
cees  ahout  heaven;  how  that  we  then  shall  "neither 
marry  nor  be  given  in  marriage,  but  be  as  the  angels 
of  God." 

Wiseh.  Our  great  divine,  madam,  has  not  settled 
that  point;  but  the  busixiess  about  angels  has  been 
completely  settled;  they  are  only  allusions  to  imagi- 
nary beings;  so  that  the  fallible  and  peccable  man 
Jesus,  either  through  ignorance  mistook,  or  through  de- 
sign misled,  the  people  into  one  of  the  popular  errors  of 
the  day. 

Ms.  Toog.  Why,  Mr.  Wisehead,  this  talk  is  as 
bad  as  common  cursing  and  swearing. 

Consid.  I  think,  madam,  it  is  much  worse  than 
common  cursing  and  swearing;  for  what  is  said  on 
these  occasions  to  prove  our  blessed  God  and  Sa- 
viour was  a  fallible  and  peccable  man,  has  been  done 
after  the  most  mature  and  deliberate  consideration; 
and  such  serious  charges  against  him  must  be  the 
most  blasphemous  and  profane ;  while,  at  the  same 
time,  it  is  urged,  from  those  who  pretend  to  serve 
a  fallible  and  peccable  man  as  the  great  prophet  of 
the  Christian  church.  I  should  certainly  prefer  rea- 
son to  the  Bible,  if  it  can  be  proved  that  such  a  man 
who  has  wilfully  and  deliberately  deceived  the  people, 
contrary  to  his  own  judgment,  is  supposed  to  be  the 
principal  character  of  that  book.  I  am  sure,  that 
downright  Deism  is  much  preferable  to  such  sort  of 
Christianity;  but,  I  think,  you  are  now  nearly  ar- 
rived at  the  end  of  your  journey ;  nothing  is  left  but 
that  you  should  positively  deny  the  miracles  of  our 
Lord,  and  the  resurrection,  which,  in  my  opinion,  is 
still  more  beyond  the  reach  of  reason  than  any  other 
doctrine  of  revelation;  and  then  you  will  be  as  com- 
plete a  Deist  as  Hume,  Gibbon,  or  the  blasphemous 
Tom  Paine. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  259 

Wiseh.  Why,  sir,  I  hope  you  do  not  think  me  so 
far  gone  from  the  Christian  religion  as  all  that? 

Cons'td.  Why  have  not  the  Jews  themselves  ac- 
knowledged that  you  have  renounced  the  Christi- 
anity their  soul  abhors?*  and  are  not  infidels  your 
admirers?  Thus,  while  we  are  left  to  the  mere 
guidance  of  reason  and  nature,  see  what  we  get  by 
attempting  to  correct  the  supposed  errors  of  the 
Bible:  and  into  what  a  labyrinth  we  are  led  by  at- 
tempting to  bring  that  book  to  our  reason,  instead 
of  submitting  our  reason  to  the  Bible.  But  while 
you  conceive  yourself  at  liberty  thus  to  triumph  in 
the  powers  of  reason  over  the  truths  of  revelation, 
let  me  ask  you,  how  far  you  can  farther  triumph  on 
the  effects  of  such  preaching  over  the  hearts  and  con- 
duct of  the  multitude  of  notorious  sinners  that  abound 
in  our  land? 

Wiseh.  Sir,  that  is  not  our  fault,  but  the  fault  of 
those  who  won't  come  to  hear  our  ministers.  Though 
we  are  sure  our  religion  is  rational,  yet  we  lament  it 
is  not  popular.  But  1  hope,  sir,  we  shall  always  make 
it  evident,  that  we  have  too  much  respect  to  our 
characters  to  court  the  applause  of  the  vulgar,  in  order 
that  our  ministers  may  be  registered  among  the  po- 
pular preachers  of  the  day. 

Spitef.  Well  said,  Mr.  Wisehead.  Though  I  don't 
like  you  in  all  points,  yet  I  do  in  this.  1  should  be 
ashamed  to  be  followed  by  such  a  mob  as  have  taken 
to  run  after  Lovegood,  for  the  sake  of  hearing  his 
extemporaneous  rant.  Why,  they  say  his  parish  is 
made  like  a  horse  fair  on  a  Sunday,  by  a  set  of  people 
galloping  after  him  from  every  quarter. 

Consid.  Ah!  Mr.  Spiteful,  you  never  need  fear 
the  contempt  of  being  a  popular  preacher! 

Wiseh.  A  wise  and  judicious  preacher  never  can 

*  See  Levi's  Letters  to  Priestley, 


260  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

expect  to  be  popular,  as  the  common  people  are  not 
likely  to  understand  him.  I  don't  think  it  is  a  proof 
that  a  man  is  a  good  preacher  because  he  is  popular, 
or  that  a  man  is  a  bad  preacher  because  he  is  not  fol- 
lowed by  the  inconsiderate  multitude. 

Consid.  What  then,  is  it  a  sign  that  a  man  is  a 
good  preacher  because  he  has  scarcely  any  one  to 
hear  him?  and  is  a  man  a  bad  preacher  because  he 
is  well  attended  ?  Pray,  sir,  what  is  the  end  of 
preaching?  I  should  suppose,  to  instruct  the  igno- 
rant. But  if  the  ignorant  can't  understand  the 
preacher,  and  will  not  even  give  him  a  hearing,  be- 
cause of  his  supposed  wisdom  and  learning,  where 
can  be  the  good  of  it.  It  is  said  of  our  Lord  himself, 
that  *'the  common  people  heard  him  gladly:"  and 
no  wonder  at  it;  "for  he  taught  as  one  having  au- 
thority, and  not  as  the  scribes:"  and  it  is  said  of  the 
preaching  of  John  the  Baptist,  that  "Jerusalem  and 
all  Judea,  and  the  regions  round  about  went  after 
him."  Were  they  bad  preachers  because  they  were 
popular  ?  Is  not  that  man  the  best  preacher  who  does 
the  most  good  ?  The  question  therefore  has  not  been 
answered,  but  rather  evaded,  as  it  respects  the  utility 
of  such  a  mode  of  preaching. 

Wiseh.  Really,  sir,  our  Doctor  and  Mr.  Smirk- 
ing do  their  best  endeavours,  and  if  they  have  not 
been  successful  in  reclaiming  the  vicious  from  the 
error  of  their  ways;  yet  we  hope  that  others  who 
are  already  virtuous  are  kept  in  the  ways  of  vir- 
tue. 

Consid.  It  should  seem,  then,  that  your  way  of 
doing  good,  is  that  you  do  no  harm;  and  it  would 
be  strange  indeed,  if  by  all  your  lectures  against 
the  deformity  of  vice,  and  on  the  beauties  of  mo- 
rality, the  people  should  lose  the  little  they  already 
possessed.  But  when  you  talk  of  the  best  endea- 
vours being  exerted,  why  is  it  that  they  are  exerted 


DIALOGUE  XV.  -61 

all  in  vain,  as  it  respects  the  salvation  of  man  from 
sin!  I  think,  sir,  I  can  tell  you  the  cause  of  it.  All 
Bible  truths  and  Bible  language  are  kept  out  of  the 
question.  Of  what  avail  was  all  the  moral  philoso- 
phy among  the  heathens?  and  of  what  avail  is  all 
the  heathenish  bare-weight  morality  among  too  many 
professing  Christianity  in  the  present  day,  where 
the  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  which  alone  is  "  the 
power  of  God  unto  salvation,"  is  omitted? 

Wiseh.  "The  power  of  God  unto  salvation!" 
Upon  my  word,  sir,  that  sounds  like  a  very  odd  ex- 
pression.   What  am  I  to  understand  by  it? 

Cousid.  Why,  sir,  it  is  one  of  the  odd  expressions 
found  in  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Romans;  but  as 
those  epistles  are  so  low  in  your  esteem,  no  wonder 
that  such  expressions  sound  in  your  ears  so  odd  and 
uncouth.  But  in  my  opinion,  it  is  an  expression  of 
peculiar  wisdom,  dignity,  and  strength.  I  am  not 
afraid  to  assert  it,  that  all  true  religion  is  nothing  less 
than  the  power  or  influence  of  God  himself  on  the 
heart.  And  must  there  not  be  a  principle  before 
ever  there  can  be  a  practice?  can  any  persons  be  re- 
formed before  they  are  renewed  ?  and  after  all,  can 
much  of  the  preaching  of  the  present  day  be  even 
called  moral  preaching?  How  often  are  we  told 
how  much  less  is  required  of  us  in  our  lapsed  state 
than  was  originally  demanded  by  the  law!  and  how 
many  apologies  are  at  times  brought  forth  to  palliate 
the  vices  and  deep  corruptions  of  the  human  mind! 
Is  this  preaching  morality,  or  the  quintessence  of 
antinomianism?* 

Wiseh.  1  really  think,  sir,  you  strain  matters  a 
deal  too  hard,  and  that  your  ideas  are  much  too 
gloomy  as  they  respect  the  human  race.  That  there 
are  some  among  whom  the  protuberances  and  excres- 

*  This  expression  is  derived  from  the  Greek,  and  means 
that  which  is  against  the  law. 

23* 


262  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

cences  of  vice  are  very  predominant^  we  cannot  but 
admit:  but  still  1  suppose  it  is  the  virtuous  habit  that 
principally  prevails,  and  we  should  not  depreciate 
the  virtues  of  mankind  on  account  of  their  vices. 
A  great  divine  of  our  denomination  has  given  it  as 
his  opinion,  that  "there  mai/  be  a  considerable  pre- 
ponderance of  virtues  even  in  characters  justly  es- 
timated as  vicious:  and  likewise  that  the  qua7itity 
of  virtue  in  the  world  may  far  exceed  that  of  vice; 
though  the  number  of  virtuous  characters  may  he 
less  than  that  of  vicious  ones:"  and  again,  "few  cha- 
racters are  flagrantly  wicked;  and  perhaps,  even  in 
the  worst  of  m.en^  good  habits  and  actions  are  more 
numerous  than  the  contrary.  Certainly  they  are 
so  in  the  majority  of  mankind,  and  preponderant  vir- 
tue is  almost  universal;"*  and  if  there  be  a  small  de- 
gree of  troublesome  vice  in  the  world,  another  able 
divine,  who  is  the  glory  of  our  denomination,  in  a 
very  learned  treatise  he  wrote  on  the  doctrine  of  ne- 
cessity, hassettledthe  business  completely, by  proving 
that  "  God  is  the  author  of  sin,  and  may  do  evil,  pro- 
vided good  may  come."| 

*  Belsham's  Review  of  Wilberforce,  p.  39. 

f  On  Necessity,  p.  117 — 121.  Now  would  any  one  think 
it,  that  those  very  people  who  have  taken  such  an  astonishing 
alarm  at  the  frightful  doctrines  of  Calvinism,  have  actually 
found  their  refuge  in  the  sentiments  of  the  worst  of  infidel 
philosophers,  making  it  out,  that  God  himself  is  the  author 
of  sin;  and  that  is  their  way  of  getting  rid  of  what  God  has 
revealed,  that  he  "  made  man  upright,"  but  man  has  "  sought 
out "  for  himself  "  many  inventions."  Thus,  by  contradicting 
the  Bible  account  of  the  fall,  which  lays  all  the  evil  of  sin  to 
the  charge  of  n)an,  they  bring  it  home  against  God  himself, 
with  this  reserve  only — provided  that  good  may  result  from 
it  in  the  end;  which  is  making  the  Divine  Being  to  speak  and 
act  like  the  worst  of  men,  who  say,  "  Let  us  do  evil  that  good 
may  come;"  whose  damnation  is  just.  Let  such  a  deity  be 
adored  by  these  sons  of  reason  as  long  as  they  choose;  but 
let  my  wisdom  lie  low  before  the  altar  of  revelation: — "  O 
Israel,  thou  hast  destroyed  thyself,  but  in  me  is  thy  help." 


DIALOGUE  XV.  263 

Consid.  Why,  then,  vice  is  not  only  to  be  little 
thought  of,  but  seems  almost  allowable,  provided, 
according  to  your  conceit,  virtue  preponderates;  or 
according,  I  must  call  it,  to  your  blasphemous  pro- 
position, that  God  can  be  the  author  of  evil.  But 
can  you  for  a  moment  suppose  that  the  least  vice 
should  be  admitted  before  our  most  holy  God,  when 
it  is  said,  "  that  for  every  idle  word  man  shall  speak 
he  shall  give  an  account  thereof  in  the  day  of  judg- 
ment;" yea,  that  he  will  bring  "  every  thought  into 
judgment?"  as  every  lascivious  thought  before  him 
is  adultery,  and  every  angry  thought  not  less  than 
murder  in  his  sight.  Shall  we  try  how  this  rule  will 
bear  between  man  and  man?  Suppose  Mr.  Dolittle, 
our  Justice,  were  to  say  of  the  thief  when  brought 
before  him.  He  generally  pays  for  his  goods  as  he 
purchases  them,  though  now  and  then  he  is  under 
the  necessity  of  stealing  to  make  his  payments  good: 
so  that  when  he  acts  the  part  of  a  knave,  it  is  with 
an  honest  and  virtuous  design.  Therefore,  we  must 
not  be  too  severe  with  him ;  for  he  is  an  honest  fel- 
low, on  the  whole;  and  his  honest  actions  outweigh 
his  thievish  ones.  And  again;  should  the  mad 
drunkard  say,  I  never  got  drunk  above  twice  in  the 
week,  and  then  all  the  rest  of  my  time  I  am  verj^ 
sober:  surely,  you'll  not  call  me  a  drunkard  upon 
that  account,  as  I  hope  my  sober  fits  are  more  than 
my  drunken  ones.  Or  shall  we  suppose  the  com- 
mon reprobate  to  plead  his  cause,  by  saying,  I  don't 
swear  near  half  my  time,  and  these  are  but  thought- 
less words;  and  words  can  hurt  nobod}':  and  let  me 
swear  ever  so  often,  I  say  more  good  words  than  bad 
ones,  and  scarcely  ever  neglect  saying  my  prayers  be- 
fore going  to  bed.  Now  should  we  suppose,  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  that  there  is  more  virtue  than  vice 
in  the  world,  which  I  really  doubt,  notwithstanding 
your  low  notions  of  virtue  being  no  higher,  as  far  as 


264  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

I  can  make  them  out,  than  a  little  morality  or  good 
manners,  or  just  and  civil  behaviour  between  man 
and  man;  yet  are  you  not  alarmed  at  your  own  sen- 
timents, that  the  same  sort  of  ideas  of  justice  is  sup- 
posed to  exist  in  God,  as  would  turn  all  things  into 
confusion  among  men?  Such,  however,  have  been 
the  dreadful  effects  of  lessening  the  eternal  obliga- 
tions of  the  law,  in  order  that  we  may  obey  it  just 
so  far  as  we  like  best;  and  such  are  the  antmomian 
principles  of  all  the  pharisees  and  formalists  on  the 
earth. 

Spitef.  Sir,  though  1  cannot  altogether  go  with  Mr. 
Wisehead,  yet  your  strict  notions  of  religion  are 
enough  to  drive  us  all  into  despair.  I  am  for  just 
such  a  religion  as  Mr.  Archdeacon  Smoothtongue 
preached  to  us  before  the  corporation  the  other  day. 
You  remember  his  text,  sir: — "  Men  shall  be  lovers 
of  their  own  selves.'^  I  am  sure,  sir,  it  was  an  ad- 
mirable sermon. 

Wiseh.  Yes,  sir,  I  admired  it  much.  I  thought  it 
an  excellent  rational  discourse;  for  though  I  should 
not  like  to  be  a  conformist  to  the  established  church, 
by  subscribing  to  the  "horrid  dogmas  of  Calvin," 
which  are  to  be  found  in  such  plenty  in  the  Articles 
and  Liturgy  of  the  Church  of  England;  yet  1  am  not 
such  a  bigot  as  to  neglect  an  opportunity  of  hearing 
a  good  sermon  in  either  church  or  meeting. 

Spitef.  We  had  better  not  touch  upon  that  point, 
Mr.  Wisehead;  as  that  would  bring  on  a  controversy 
which,  I  am  sure,  we  sliould  not  end  to-night.  But 
I  know  all  you  Dissenters  are  of  opinion,  that  none 
but  Lovegood's  followers  give  us  the  true  meaning 
of  the  doctrines  of  the  church  of  England;  but  this 
is  thinking  very  hard  of  the  clergy. 

Wiseh.  Sir,  I  confess  this  is  the  universal  opinion 
among  all  Dissenters;  but  I  should  not. wish  to  touch 
you  in  a  sore  place. 


DIALOGUE  XV,  265 

ConsicL  From  what  has  transpired  this  evening,  it 
would  be  rather  dangerous,  in  my  opinion,  to  touch 
Mr.  Spiteful  in  any  of  his  sore  places,  as  at  times  he 
is  very  apt  to  wince;  but,  I  must  confess,  I  differ  with 
both  you  gentlemen  very  widely,  respecting  the 
goodness  of  Mr.  Archdeacon  Smoothtongue's  ser- 
mon. First,  I  think  when  a  man  takes  a  text,  he 
should  explain  the  meaning  of  it.  Now  that  text, 
as  it  stands  in  the  Bible,  evidently  was  designed  to 
show  the  evils  of  self-love,  that  it  is  a  vicious  princi- 
ple in  itself,  and  productive  of  evil  in  all  its  conse- 
quences; whereas  the  preacher  turned  it  right  about, 
and  made  it  speak  for  a  doctrine,  which,  according 
to  the  word  of  God,  it  was  his  duty  seriously  to  op- 
pose. 

Spitef.  Well,  sir,  and  did  not  the  Archdeacon  say 
that  the  extreme  of  self-love  might  be  a  vicious  prin- 
ciple, though  ill  moderation  it  was  necessary  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind? 

Consid.  Yes,  sir,  I  heard  all  he  had  to  say,  and 
with  a  considerable  degree  of  attention:  but  really, 
1  believe  it  will  be  with  some  difficulty  that  1  can  be 
persuaded  to  give  up  a  point,  on  which  the  interest 
of  holiness,  and  the  glory  of  God  so  much  depend. 
In  my  opinion  the  ultimate  end  of  every  action  should 
arise  from  a  supreme  love  of  God;  and  all  subordi- 
nate love  to  ourselves  and  our  fellow  creatures  is  vi- 
cious and  corrupted,  but  as  it  centres  in  our  love 
towards  him:  likewise  all  the  wickedness  and  op- 
pression there  is  in  the  world  arises  from  this  cor- 
rupted principle  of  self-love.  When  men  love 
themselves,  independent  of  God  and  godliness,  they 
must  be  little  better  than  devils  of  course.  Such, 
however,  is  the  avowed  principle  of  that  thorough- 
paced French  infidel,  Volney;  and  in  order  to  make 
the  world  twenty  times  more  wicked  than  before^  he 


266  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

has  reduced  it  to  a  system :  and  we  all  know  what 
has  been  the  result  of  that  doctrine  in  his  own  nation 
at  large.  To  speak  plainly,  I  look  upon  it,  that  such 
sort  of  preaching  is  nothing  better  than  infidelity  in 
disguise;  and  as  a  proof  of  it,  how  nearly  the  Arch- 
deacon appears  to  be  of  the  same  stamp,  1  don't  know 
that  he  quoted  a  single  passage  out  of  the  Bible  after 
he  had  taken  his  text. 

TViseh.  0  sir!  you  know  there  are  a  great  num- 
ber of  expressions  in  the  Bible  that  now  sound  in 
these  tnodcrn  days  of  Christianity,  very  barbarous 
and  uncouth;  and  I  really  think,  that  those  gentle- 
men who  have  the  care  of  educating  the  young  men 
of  our  denomination  for  the  ministry,  do  w^ell  in  ad- 
vising them  not  to  interlard  their  sermons  with  too 
raany  texts  of  Scripture,  as  it  could  not  but  prove 
greatly  detrimental  to  the  elegance  of  their  composi- 
tions; and  if  we  can  but  reform  the  depraved  taste  of 
the  day,  by  attending  to  our  compositions,  we  have 
no  doubt,  but  that  we  shall  be  as  popular  as  any  of 
our  opponents. 

Spitef.  Really,  sir,  I  am  afraid  you  will  quite  over- 
shoot the  mark;  you  seem  to  make  next  to  nothing 
of  the  Bible.  You  are  giving  Mr.  Considerate  a  sad 
handle  against  yourself. 

TViseh.  Why  you  may  be  assured  of  this,  Mr. 
Spiteful,  that  you  never  will  be  able  to  get  the  better 
of  Mr.  Considerate  in  point  of  argument,  if  he  sup- 
pose he  carries  the  question  by  quoting  the  epistles 
of  Paul  and  the  "  histories  of  Jesus.'^  And  I  can 
give  you  a  proof  of  this,  which  is  quite  to  the  point. 
A  gentleman  in  the  present  parliament,  and  who  is 
also  nearly  related  to  the  family  of  the  Worthies  in 
this  neighbourhood,  thought  proper  to  turn  author  in 
divinity,  and  took  it  in  his  head  to  bring  forward  a 
iong  string  of  such  antiquated  iiotioas  in  religion  as 


DIALOGUE  XV.  267 

are  now  entirely  exploded  among  all  rational  divines; 
and  as  you  may  suppose,  in  order  that  he  might  sup- 
port his  cause,  his  arguments  were  deduced  from  St. 
Paul's,  and  the  rest  of  the  Epistles.*  Some  weakly 
attempted  to  shake  the  ground  he  had  taken,  by  ar- 
guing against  him  from  the  same  authority:  but  an 
able  divine  of  our  denomination^  stept  forward  and 
did  the  business  completely,  by  showing  that  no  con- 
clusive argument  could  be  drawn  from  a  set  of  letters 
which  were  no  farther  worthy  of  estimation,  than  as 
letters  written  by  good  men,  who  were  still  liable  to 
err  as  well  as  ourselves.  Thus  he  battered  down  the 
place  of  defence,  in  which  our  author  supposed  himself 
impregnable,  and  turned  him  forth  to  fight  us  in  the 
open  field  of  reason  and  speculation;  and  there,  Pli 
assure  you,  as  you  may  suppose,  he  had  him  com- 
pletely; but  while  you  make  so  much  of  the  Bible, 
and  while  you  suppose  the  authors  of  it  were  all  in- 
spiredj  you'll  never  be  able  to  deny  the  truth  of  Mr. 
Lovegood's  doctrine. 

Spitef.  What,  then,  am  I  to  believe  that  all  their 
strange  notions  of  grace  and  faith  without  works,  are 
contained  in  the  Bible?  that  man  has  no  free  will; 
and  that  if  a  man  be  one  of  the  elect,  let  him  do 
whatever  he  will,  he  sha'nH  he  damned;  and  if  he  be 
a  reprobate  he  must  go  to  hell  and  he  damned,  if  he  is 
ever  so  good,  and  strives  to  be  saved  as  much  as  ever 
he  can  ? 

Madam  Toog.  0  shocking, Mr.  Spiteful!  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  any  one  can  preach  such  bad  doctrines  as 
all  that? 

Consid.  Mr.  Spiteful,  madam,  is  fond  of  hio;h  co- 


*  Wilberforce's  Practical  View,  &c. 
t  See  Belsham's  Review — For  a  full  answer  to  this  perni- 
cious book,  and  a  defence  of  Mr.  VVilberforce,  see  Williams' 
Vindication  of  the  Calvinistic  Doctrines,  &c.  8vo. 


268  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

louring;  but  I  perfectly  agree  with  him  that  we  may 
look  into  the  Bible  for  sentiments  like  these,  and 
never  find  them. 

fViseh^  Though  I  can  by  no  means  admit  Mr. 
Lovegood's  notions  in  religion  to  be  rational,  yet  it 
cannot  be  said  that  he  or  his  followers  carry  matters 
so  far  as  you  represent  them:  and  as  to  Mr.  Love- 
good,  I  believe  him  to  be  a  good-hearted  man,  though 
his  sentiments  in  theology  so  widely  differ  from 
mine. 

Consid.  {to  Mr.  Spiteful)  Now,  sir,  1  am  sure  Mr. 
Lovegood  never  holds  forth  justification  without  its 
fruits,  as  you  seem  to  represent  him.  I  myself  heard 
him  explain  matters  quite  otherwise,  but  a  fortnight 
ago:  and  very  much  to  my  satisfaction.  He  always 
tells  us,  that,  as  there  are  none  righteous,  so  none  can 
be  justified  by  their  righteousness;  and  that  though 
we  are  justified  and  saved  by  the  merits  and  death  of 
Jesus  Christ  only,  yet  that  we  are  not  to  "  continue 
in  sin  that  grace  may  abound."  He  observed  on  that 
occasion  that  the  king  never  pardons  a  thief,  that  he 
may  iiave  a  license  to  cheat  and  steal  as  long  as  he 
lives;  and  that  all  such  crimes  committed  after  a  par- 
don are  deemed  twenty  times  worse  than  those  com- 
mitted before.  Besides,  he  talks  much  of  the  need 
and  necessity  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  change  our  hearts: 
and  have  you  never  ridiculed  him  on  that  score? 
Pray,  sir,  what  do  you  yourself  think  we  mean  by 
that  doctrine? 

Spitef.  How  should  I  know,  sir?  It  is  strange  in- 
deed, that  you  should  ask  me  about  your  meaning, 
as  though  1  should  know  better  than  yourself,  when 
you  are  so  fond,  with  your  wife  and  daughter,  of 
gadding  about  after  Lovegood.  But  I  heard  that  he 
should  have  said,  but  a  few  Sundays  ago,  from  one 
that  heard  him,  "Now  we  conclude  a  man  is  justi- 
fied  by  faith  only,  without  the  deeds  of  the  laio.^' 


DIALOGUE   XV.  269 

What  do  you  think  of  that,  sir?  A  fine  fellow  truly, 
to  make  such  consequential  conclusions^  while  he 
holds  forth  such  abominable  doctrines! 

Consid.  Why,  sir,  it  is  very  unfortunate,  that  you 
should  have  blundered  upon  the  express  words  of 
scripture,  and  suppose  them  to  be  the  words  of  Mr. 
Lovegood,  and  especially  as  you  have  been  just  vin- 
dicating the  Bible,  I  wonder  that  you  should  be  so 
ignorant  of  its  contents. 

Spilef.  Sir,  it  is  impossible.  I  say  it  is  impossi- 
ble, (To  Mrs.  Toogood.)  Mrs.  Toogood,  madam, 
lend  me  your  Bible;  {To  Mr,  Considerate)  and  then, 
sir,  you  shall  find  them  if  you  can. 

Madam  Toog.  L — d,  sir;*  you  canH  want  the 
Bible,  now  you  have  just  done  playing  at  cards. 

Wiseh.  Really,  Mr.  Spiteful,  I  would  not  have 
you  put  it  to  the  test,  for  I  remember  reading  some 
such  words  not  very  long  ago;  and  1  recollect  it 
shocked  me,  when  1  thought  of  it,  what  a  bad  use 
vulscar  minds  would  be  liable  to  make  of  such  sort  of 
expressions. 

Consid.  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  you'll  find  the  passage 
in  the  third  of  the  Romans;  but  I  don't  think  we 
need  to  be  shocked  at  the  consequences  of  free  for- 
giveness, when  it  is  always  connected  with  the  idea 
of  holiness;  *' that  we  may  live  unto  his  glory  who 
hath  called  us  out  of  darkness  into  his  marvellous 
light/^ 

Spitef.  And  1  suppose,  sir,  that  you  think  the 
horrid  notions  of  predestination  are  also  to  be  found 
in  the  Bible;  but  I  am  sure  they  are  not. 

Consid.  I  am  sure  they  are  not  as  well  as  yourself, 
as  you  have  represented  them;   nor  yet  where  you 

*  These  sort  of  religious  old  ladies  are  very  apt  to  take 
the  Lord's  name  in  vain. 

VOL.  I.  —  24 


270  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

have  placed  them,  in  the  brains  of  good  Mr.  Love- 
good.  I  have  heard  in  the  word  of  God  of  "an  elec- 
tion according  to  the  foreknowledge  of  God  the  Fa- 
ther, through  sanctification  of  the  Spirit  unto  obedi- 
ence j^^  and  that  "we  are  predestinated  to  be  con- 
formed to  the  image  of  God's  dear  Son:"  but  an 
election /y'om  sin,  that  we  may  live  in  sin,  is  a  doc- 
trine as  much  abhorred  by  jVIr.  Lovegood,  as  it 
can  be  by  you.  No^  sir!  Mr.  Lovegood  is  better 
taught  to  distinguish  between  causes  and  effects; 
and  he  always  insists  upon  it,  that  the  eflfect  of 
our  election  is,  that  we  may  "  live  unto  God;"  and 
as  to  his  opinion  relative  to  the  freedom  of  the 
will,  I  hope  we  have  had  enough  upon  that  score 
already. 

Wiseh.  I  am  sure  we  hslve^  sir:  for  it  has  given 
me  such  a  head-ache,  that  I  have  felt  it  ever  since. 
{To  Mrs,  Toogood.)  Can  you  give  me  a  pinch  of 
your  cephalic  snuff,  madam? 

[The  snuffbox  is  handed;  Spiteful  continues.'] 

Spitef.  I  have  no  sort  of  doubt,  but  that  Love- 
good  knows  how  to  gloss  over  his  abominable  tenets. 
He  is  an  artful  fellow;  and  if  all  be  true,  as  wicked  as 
any  of  us, — 'and  no  wonder  at  it,  from  the  doctrines 
he  preaches.  There  is  a  fine  story  gone  all  round 
the  country  about  him^  and  I'll  warrant  it  is  all 
true. 

Consid.  What  is  that,  sir?  I  have  heard  it  re- 
ported, that  my  wife  is  too  intimate  with  the  parson. 
Is  that  the  story  you  have  got  hold  of?  But  instead 
of  being  jealous  on  that  score,  I  wish  her  to  be  yet 
more  intimate.  I  am  sure  she  cannot  have  a  more 
excellent  and  instructive  acquaintance;  and  I  now 
mean  to  go  myself  with  her  and  my  daughters,  much 
oftener  than  I  have  done ;  though,  being  one  of  the 
corporation,   1   am   expected   at   Mapleton    church 


DIALOGUE  XV.  271 

more  than  I  could  wish. — But,  pray  what  is  the 
story  ? 

Spitef.  Why,  have  you  not  heard  how  Parson 
Lovegood  has  persuaded  a  lady  to  leave  her  husband; 
because  he  would  not  be  converted  to  his  religion, 
as  well  as  herself;  and  that  she  would  not  live  with 
him,  because  he  was  a  carnal  man,  according  to 
their  canting  way  of  talk:  while,  madam,  with  all 
her  pretended  sanctity,  is  carnal  enough  to  admit  the 
parson  to  come  and  see  her  as  often  as  he  likes;  and 
there  he  keeps  her  at  JS''ed  Swiggs,  at  the  Golden 
Lion  ;  and  some  say  Mr.  Worthy,  with  all  his  re- 
ligion, is  admitted  to  pay  her  the  same  sort  of  visits; 
and  that  ^Irs.  Worthy  is  quite  jealous  upon  the 
occasion. 

Madam  Toog.  0  shocking!  shocking!  Well,  I 
always  thought  Lovegood  must  be  a  very  bad  man 
at  heart,  from  the  first  sermon  I  ever  heard  him 
preach;  for  no  one,  I  am  sure,  could  have  made 
out  all  people  to  be  so  very  wicked,  if  he  had  not 
been  a  very  wicked  man  himself:  and  from  that  time 
I  was  determined  never  to  hear  him  no  more. 

Consid.  Why,  madam,  I  think  we  had  all  better 
have  been  at  cards,  though  it  is  the  week  before 
sacrament,  than  talk  scandal  against  the  innocent; 
but  I  have  heard,  from  my  wife  and  others,  a  very 
different  story  to  what  is  now  made  out. 

Spitef.  Ay,  ay,  they  give  it  out  that  the  lady 
was  the  gentleman's  mistress;  and  that,  when  she 
saw  the  evil  of  her  ways,  by  one  of  Lovegood's 
preachments,  she  would  not  live  with  him  any  long- 
er; but  he  swore  again  and  again  by  his  Maker, 
that  she  was  his  lawful  wife,  and  that  he  would  soon 
prove  it. 

Consid.  You  know  the  old  proverb,  "they  that 
swear  will  lie;"  and  I  have   no  doubt  but  the  up 


272  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Tightness  of  Mr.  Lovegood's  conduct  will  soon  ap- 
pear. 

Spitef.  They  may  preach  up  their  innocence  as 
long  as  they  like;  but  Mr.  Bluster,  of  Revel  Hallj. 
knows  the  family  very  well;  and  Mrs.  Scandal,  his 
aunt,  says,  she  could  take  her  oath  of  it,  that  it  is  a 
fact. 

Madam  Toog.  Yes,  and  she  was  going  to  tell 
me  all  about  it  one  morning,  when  she  met  me  at 
Friday  prayers;  but  1  bad  not  time  to  stop  to  hear 
it  all. 

MisB  Praleapace.  Yes,  and  Mrs.  Tittletattle  was 
at  our  house  the  other  day  to  tea,  and  told  us  a  great 
deal  about  it ;  I  am  sure,  Lovegood  must  be  a  very 
wicked  man  if  it  is  true. 

Consid.  Am3,  I  am  sure,  you  are  all  acting  a  very 
wicked  part  if  it  is  false. 

Spitef.  False!  how  can  it  be  false?  are  they  not 
always  prating  and  preaching  about  faith  without 
works,  though  you  pretend  to  deny  it?  and  what 
can  be  expected  among  those  who  hold  such  loose 
notions  of  religion?  Why,  to  be  sure,  a  conduct  as 
loose  as  their  religion:  every  body  knows  it  is  all 
free  grace  with  them,  that  they  may  live  as  they  list. 
I  am  afraid  these  abominable  fellows  will  soon  over- 
turn both  church  and  state. 

Consid.  Why,  Mr.  Spiteful,  what  can  ail  you  to- 
night, to  run  on  at  this  rate? 

Spitef.  Why,  have  you  not  seen  Bishop  Bluster's 
Charge  against  these  mock  reformers,  proving  that, 
under  the  mask  of  a  great  zeal  for  religion,  they  are, 
notwithstanding,  Infidels  and  Atheists?^ 

Consid.  How  can  you,  in  your  conscience,  think 
so,  while,  by  Sunday  schools,  and    every  possible 

*  It  seems,  a  charge  not  very  dissimilar  to  Bishop  Bluster's, 
made  its  appearance  about  this  time. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  273 

exertion  these  people  are  doing  all  they  can  for  the 
reformation  of  mankind? 

Spitef.  Fine  reformers,  truly!  when,  under  the 
pretence  of  a  reformation,  their  design  is  by  their 
seditious  machinations,  to  throw  all  things  into 
anarchy  and  confusion  :  and  the  Bishop  says,  this  he 
knows  to  be  a  matter  of  fact.  I  wonder  government 
does  not  stop  their  progress! 

Consid,  What!  is  it  a  matter  of  fact,  that  some 
attempt  to  make  people  infidels  and  atheists,  by  di- 
recting them  to  read  their  Bibles,  and  attend  on  the 
public  worship  of  God?  and  as  to  the  charge  of  se- 
dition, majice  can  say  any  thing,  but  stops  to  prove 
nothing. 

Wiseh.  Bishop  Bluster,  sir !  who  is  Bishop  Blus- 
ter? Being  a  dissenter  I  am  not  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  names  of  the  bench  of  bishops. 

Spiief.  Why,  sir,  he  is  not  only  a  man  of  very 
high  blood,  for  he  is  cousin  german  to  Mr.  Bluster 
of  Revel  Hall,  but  a  very  learned  man,  I  will  assure 
you. 

Consid.  As  for  hjs  learning,  that  1  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  dispute;  but  if  a  person  wilfully,  delibe^ 
rately,  and  publicly,  bears  false  witness  against  his 
neighbours,  by  urging  such  cruel  charges  without 
any  evidence  to  substantiate  the  fact,  while  he  can 
thus  directly  transgress  the  ninth  command,  it  is 
no  proof  of  his  integrity:  suppose  any  one  should 
wantonly  charge  him  in  return,  that  he  was  a  com- 
mon swearer,  a  liar,  a  gambler,  a  Sabbath-breaker, 
and  register  him  among  the  meanest  of  common 
swindlers,  as  running  into  every  one's  debt,  and  pay- 
ing nobody  till  compelled  by  law,  and  all  without 
the  least  evidence  to  substantiate  the  fact,  how  would 
he  like  it? 

JViseh.  Though  I  do  not  like    Mr.  Lovegood  and 

his  doctrines,  yet  I  do  not  think  either  he  or  any  of 

24^. 


274  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

his  sect  are  quite  so  t^d  as  you  make  them  out;  he 
certainly  is  very  charitable  in  his  parish.  1  wonder 
how  he  can  do  so  much,  for  they  say  his  living  is  but 
very  small;  and  he  has  an  increasing  family. 

SpiteJ.  Ah!  but  Pll  warrant  it  is  Mr.  Worthy's 
purse  that  helps  him  out;  they  don't  mind  their 
money,  provided  they  can  but  bribe  people  to  be  of 
their  religion.  • 

Consid.  Why  is  it,  then,  sir,  that  you  cannot  get 
Mr.  Bluster  to  bribe  some  people,  after  the  same 
manner,  to  be  of  your  religion ;  for  whenever  you 
preach,  it  seems  yours  is  but  a  very  little  flock. 

Spitef,  I  do  not  mind  your  sneers,  sir,  but  I  have 
not  half  done  yet;  for  there  is  Mr.  Feigning,  Mr. 
Worthy's  steward,  a  rascal;  and  then  I  have  heard 
a  fine  story  of  Mrs.  Fairspeech,  a  drunken  sow, 

Consid.  Sir f  you  need  not  spend  your  breath  on 
such  subjects:  for  hypocrites  there  always  were,  and 
always  will  be;  but  nothing  can  be  more  cruel  and 
unjust  than  to  charge  the  crimes  of  hypocrites  on 
those  who  are  upright  and  sincere. 

Thus  Mr.  Spiteful  was  proceeding  in  the  most 
vehement  manner,  and  in  which  he  would  probably 
have  proceeded  for  a  considerable  while  longer,  had 
he  not  been  interi'upted  by  his  servant,  who  was  sent 
after  him  from  his  house  at  Mapleton  to  Madarn 
Toagood's,  with  the  following  letter: 

u  Rev.  Sir,  Wednesday  Mon. 

With  great  difficulty,  I  yesterday  came  from 
Revel  H^llin  Mr.  Bluster's  chaise.  On  Sunday  after 
the  second  service,  I  went  to  his  house,  according 
to  appointmeat,  that  I  might  be  present  on  Monday 
at  the  coursing  match.  My  mare,  you  know,  is 
rather  spirited,  and  eve^y  now  and  then  the  young 
s])arks  that  were  there,  smacked  their  whips  and  gave 


DIALOGUE  XY.  275 

her  a  cut;  and,  you  know,  if  we,  of  our  order,  choose 
to  keep  company  with  the  great,  we  must  submit  to 
such  rubs  as  these.  However  so  it  was,  that  while 
we  were  all  on  the  full  speed,  on  a  chase,,  my  mare 
with  the  rest  of  the  company,  attempted  to  clear  a 
wide  ditch,  but  missed  her  aim,  and  left  me  behind 
her.  I  unfortunately  fell  head-foremost,  and  must 
soon  have  been  suffocated  in  the  mud  and  water,  had 
not  the  game-keeper,  with  the  assistance  of  others, 
with  great  difficulty  pulled  me  out.  It  was  a  fortu- 
nate circumstance  that  the  bottom  of  the  ditch  was 
so  soft,  otherwise  I  must  have  been  more  severely 
bruised  by  the  fall ;  but  I  still  feel  myself  so  much 
hurt,  about  the  neck  and  shoulders,  that  I  can 
scarcely  sit  upon  my  bed  to,  write  these  few  lines,  to 
request  you  to  undertake  my  duty  for  me,  till  1  am 
recovered;  or  till  the  return  of  my  curate,  Mr.  Brisk, 
who  is  gone  with  Ltord  Rakish  to  Gambleton  races, 
and  who  has  some  hopes  of  preferment  from  that 
quarter.  I  expect  him  to  return  in  about  a  week  or 
ten  days,  when  I  shall  release  you  from  all  farther 
trouble. 

I  was  engaged  this  evening  to.  give  the  sacrament 
to  Mrs.  Formal,  who  is  not  likely  to  live  many 
days:  if  you  will  call  upon  her  and  p.erform  that 
office  for  me,  you  will  much  oblige  your  humble 
servant. 

Rich.  Dolittle. 

P.  S.  I  could  avail  myself  of  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Goodman;  but,  as  I  have  reason  to  believe,  he  has 
of  late  had  a  strong  bias  in  favour  of  Mr.  Love- 
good's  notions  in  religion,  I  should  be  much  afraid 
to  lend  him  my  pulpit.'^ 


Mr.  Spiteful  having  read  the  letter  to  himself,  ex- 
claims : 


276  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Oh,  poor  Mr.  Dolittle,  he  has  met  with  a  dreadful 
fall  from  his  horse,  and  he  wants  me  to  administer 
the  sacrament  to  Mrs.  Formal,  who  is  supposed  to  be 
near  death. — What  can  I  do?  I  must  go  away  di- 
rectly. 

Madam  Toog.  Why,  sir,  you  are  not  prepared: 
you  can't  go  away  from  the  card  table  to  administer 
the  holy  sacrament. 

Spitef.  Well,  I  cannot  help  it,  1  must  take  it  as 
I  find  it;  I  wish  I  had  been  at  something  else. 

[Mr.  Wisehead,  twisting  his  thumbs  one  over  the 
other,  sat  and  said  nothing.] 

Madam  Toog.  But,  1  hope,  sir,  nothing  material 
has  happened  to  Mr.  Dolittle:  do  stop  awhile  and 
tell  us  before  you  go:  if  it  is  not  too  bold,  I  should 
be  glad  to  know  what  he  says  of  this  unfortunate  ac- 
cident. 

Spitef.  Well,  well,  as  the  whole  of  it  must  soon 
be  known,  far  and  wide,  you  may  take  and  read  it, 
if  you  like, 

[The  letter  is  handed  to  Madam  Toogood,  and  she 
gives  it  to  Miss  Prateapace.] 

Madam  Toog.  Becky  Prateapace,  my  dear,  will 
you  read  it?  My  eyes  are  got  very  dim,  and  I  don't 
like  to  read  by  candle  light.  [The  letter  is  read 
out.] 

Madam  Toog.  0,  poor  gentleman!  but  Mr. 
Spiteful,  did  you  not  hear  of  it  before  you  left 
Mapleton? 

Spitef.  I  heard  that  he  had  a  bad  fall  from  his 
horse. 

Consid.  Hear  of  it,  madam?  I  suppose  it  is  all  over 
the  town  by  now.  But  as  Mr.  Spiteful  had  so 
much  to  say  against  Mr.  Lovegood,  I  thought  I 
would  have  the  less  to  say  against  Mr.  Dolittle; 
especially,  as  you  so  much  admire  him  as  a  mi- 
nister. 


DIALOGUE  XV.  277 

Madam  Toog.  Why,  to  be  sure,  sir,  he  is  an  ex- 
cellent man  in  the  pulpit. 

Consid.  A  thousand  pities,  madam,  if  that  be  the 
case,  but  that  he  should  always  be  kept  in  it,  and 
never  let  out  again,  when  he  is  once  found  there. 
In  my  opinion,  however,  a  bad  man  out  of  the  pulpit 
can  never  be  a  good  man  in  the  pulpit. 

Madam  Toog.  I  am  very  sorry  Mr.  Dolittle  should 
have  been  so  let  down. 

Consid.  Why,  by  all  acounts,  he  has  been  com-, 
pletely  let  down,  and  let  down  more  than  once  on 
the  same  unfortunate  day ;  for  after  the  Rector 
was  with  some  difficulty  heaved  out  of  the  ditch, 
neither  his  hat  nor  wig  could  be  found  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  as  they  were  both  driven  so  deep  in- 
to the  mire. 

Madam  Toog.  Dear  sir,  I  hope  the  Rector  was 
not  obliged  to  ride  home  without  his  hat  and  wig. 

Consid.  Why,  ma'am,  it  happened  just  then,  that 
there  was  an  old  woman  gathering  some  sticks  up 
and  down  the  hedge,  and  after  she  had  lent  a  help- 
ing hand  to  scrape  off  some  of  the  dirt,  she  next 
kindly  took  her  red  cloak  from  off  her  own  back, 
and  put  it  round  Mr.  Dolittle's  head  and  shoulders: 
but  as  for  his  riding  home,  that  was  quite  out  of 
the  question;  for  as  soon  as  his  mare  found  herself 
at  liberty,  she  took  to  her  heels,  and  soon  arrived  at 
her  own  stable  door  at  Mapleton :  and  that  first  gave 
the  alarm  to  the  town,  to  see  the  mare  return  with 
her  saddle  and  bridle,  and  without  her  master.  Be- 
sides, had  the  mare  stopped  for  her  master,  he  was 
too  much  bruised  to  mount  her  again. 

Madam  Toog.  Poor  gentleman,  how  did  he  get 
home  ? 

Consid.  Why,  if  not  in  a  very  creditable,  yet  as  it 
then  proved  a  very  convenient  carriage.  It  was  in  a 
dung  cart,  madam,  which  happened  just  then  to  be 


278  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

employed  in  carrying  dung  into  some  of  the  neigh- 
bouring fields. 

Madam  Toog.  0  dear!  why  did  they  not  send  to 
Mapleton  for  a  chaise?  or  why  could  not  Mr.  Bluster 
have  sent  home  for  his  chaise?  I  would  have  sooner 
parted  with  twenty  pounds  out  of  my  pocket  than 
that  he  should  have  been  carried  in  that  manner. 

Consid.  Why,  madam,  would  you  have  had  him 
to  have  continued  trembling  and  quaking  all  over 
mud  and  dirt,  in  the  cold  till  a  chaise  could  have 
been  brought?  How  could  they  do  better,  under 
such  circumstances,  than  to  put  the  Rector  in  the 
cart,  and  then  drive  him  home  as  fast  as  he  could 
bear  it?  though  to  be  sure,  liad  he  been  brought  home 
in  a  chaise,  he  would  have  escaped  his  second  let 
down. 

Madam  Toog.  Dear  sir,  what  was  that?  it  quite 
frightens  me.  Becky  Prateapace,  reach  me  my 
smelling  bottle.     [The  old  lady  takes  a  snift.] 

Consid.  Why,  you  know,  madam,  calamities  of 
this  sort  seldom  come  alone,  and  so  it  happened  now; 
for  the  Rector  was  first  hoisted  into  the  cart  and 
seated  on  the  old  woman's  bundle  of  sticks,  while 
she  sat  on  the  one  side,  and  Mr.  Bluster's  servant  on 
the  other  as  his  supporters.  Thus  he  rode  to  Revel 
Hall,  shivering  with  cold,  and  groaning  with  pain,  all 
the  time;  but  through  the  carelessness  of  the  plough 
boy,  who  drove  the  cart,  which  was  made  to  tilt  the 
dung  into  the  field,  (not  having  properly  attended 
to  the  p'm)  while  they  were  preparing  to  heave  the 
Rector  out,  they  were  all  tilted  down  together;  and 
what  between  the  groanings  of  the  Rectqr,  and  the 
laughing  of  the  spectators,  to  see  him  and  the  old 
woman,  with  her  bundle  of  sticks,  and  the  servant, 
all  sprawling  together  on  the  ground,  such  a  sight, 
I  suppose,  was  never  exhibited  in  that  yard  before. 

Madam  Toog.  I  am  afraid  this  will  make  a  sad  talk 


DIALOGUE  XV.  279 

about  the  town,  especially  as  Mr.  Dolittle  made  such 
a  fine  sermon,  last  Sunday,  proving  that  our  clergy 
were  the  successors  of  our  Saviour  and  his  apostles. 

Spitef.  Ay,  and  all  this  will  be  nuts  for  Love- 
good  and  his  schismatical  crew. 

Consid.  Indeed,  sir,  you  ill  know  the  character  of 
that  good  man ;  no  person  can  be  more  grieved  at 
the  improper  conduct  of  the  pretended  ministers  of 
the  Gospel  than  himselfj  and  if  all  acted  as  he  does, 
I  am  sure,  the  blessed  cause  of  Christianity  would 
not  suffer  half  the  jeer  and  contempt  it  now  sustains 
on  account  of  the  bad  lives  of  its  professors,  espe- 
cially of  its  professing  ministers,  however  denomina- 
ted; and,  instead  of  a  set  of  people  belonging  to  any 
church,  urging  the  foolish  boast  that  they  are  the 
successors  of  our  Lord  and  his  apostles,  it  would  be 
much  more  to  the  point,  if  they  would  but  preach 
their  doctrines,  and  imitate  their  examples.  Good 
and  bad  there  will  be  of  all  parties;  but  these  things 
prove  to  me,  the  reality  of  the  Christian  dispensation, 
since  nothing  but  its  own  native  simplicity  and  pu- 
rity could  have  preserved  it  in  existence,  while  placed 
in  the  hand  of  such  teachers,  whose  lives  are  so  con- 
trary to  its  holy  designs. 


[Mr.  Spiteful  being  w^anted  at  Mapleton,  rose  up 
in  haste,  and  sought  for  his  hat  and  cane.  The  cane 
being  mislaid,  he  scolded  Madam  Toogood's  maid, 
and  according  to  an  accustomed  expression  of  his, 
called  upon  the  devil*  to  know  where  it  was,  and 

*  A  very  favourite  mode  of  speech  with  Mr.  Spiteful.  See 
the  Anti-Jacobin  Review,  passim. 

The  reader  may  easily  judge  from  this  hint  and  from  the 
spirit  and  temper  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Spiteful,  who  had  a  deal  of 
leisure  time,  that  he  was  a  very  great  scribbler  for  the  Anti- 
Jacobin  Review,  the  Orthodox  Churchman's  Magazine,  the 


280  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

when  found,  trudged  off  to  administer  the  sacrament 
to  Mrs.  Formal,  as  fit  for  the  office  as  was  another  of 
the  same  stamp,  who  was  called  from  a  puppet  show 
on  a  similar  occasion.  After  this  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany speedily  dispersed.] 

Porcupine,  and  some  other  publications  of  the  same  stamp; 
and  any  one  may  naturally  suppose,  from  the  low  and  scur- 
rilous style  of  his  conversation,  that  his  productions  were 
greatly  admired  by  all  the  editors  of  that  class  of  periodical 
publications. 


DIALOGUE   XVI 


BETWEEN   MR.  WORTHY,   MR.  LOVEGOOD, 
EDWARD,  AND  MRS.  CHIPMAN. 


MORE  NEWS  FROM  LOWER  BROOKFIELD,  PROVING  THE  EF- 
FICACY OF  THE  GOSPEL  ON  THE  VILEST  OF  SINNERS  ;  OR, 
THE  EVILS  OF  SEDUCTION  DELINEATED. 

Edward,  the  landlord  of  the  Golden  Lion,  whose 
conversion  was  noticed  in  a  former  Dialogue,  comes 
to  Mr.  Lovegood,  and  begs  his  advice. 

Edward.  Sir,  if  I  don't  interrupt  you,  I  should  be 
glad  to  lay  before  you  the  case  of  an  unfortunate,  but, 
I  believe,  a  really  penitent  young  woman,  now  at 
our  house. 

Lovegood.  You  know,  Edward,  I  always  love  to 
attend  to  every  circumstance  relative  to  poor  peni- 
tents.— Sit  down,  and  tell  me  your  story. 

Edw.  Why,  sir,  you  may  have  heard  that  a  gen- 
tleman, at  least  by  his  looks,  took  lodgings,  at  a  pri- 
vate house  in  our  village,  with  a  very  fine  gay-look- 
ing young  woman,  and  every  one  thought  she  was 
his  wife.  They  came  about  a  fortnight  ago  to  our 
church;  and,  a  few  days  after  that,  she  came  to  our 
house  in  much  distress,  and  without  the  gentleman 
with  whom  she  lived.  This  made  me  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  tell  her,  that  we  were  very  cautious  who 
we  took  into  our  house,  and  then  pointed  her  to  our 
rules.  She  looked  at  a  few  of  them,  threw  herself 
back  in  the  chair  and  quite  fainted  away. 

Mrs.  Loveg.  Oh!  my  dear,  how  I  was  struck,  at 

VOL.  I. — 25 


282  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

her  appearance,  when  she  first  came  to  our  church! 
You  no  sooner  began  to  preach,  than  she  was  all  at- 
tention; and  was  oftentimes  melted  into  tears;  and 
since  then,  though  she  lias  come  without  the  gentle- 
man, she  has  constantly  attended;  even  last  Wed- 
nesday she  was  there  at  the  lecture,  though  it  rained 
so  hard.  I  cannot  but  hope,  that  God  has  sent  a 
signal  blessing  home  to  her  heart!  liow  thankful  I 
am,  that  the  Lord  continues  to  make  your  ministry 
such  a  blessing  among  us. 

LovcP"'  Why,  my  love,  you  know  1  have  often 
said,  that,  independent  of  the  preacher,  however 
feeble  his  abilities  may  be,  nothing  is  attended  with 
such  a  glorious  efficacy  as  the  simple  preaching  of 
the  Gospel  of  Christ.  (7b  Edward.)  But,  Edward, 
what  is  her  story? 

Edw.  0  sir,  she  tells  me  the  most  affecting  story 
lever  heard  in  all  my  life:  how  she  was  seduced 
from  her  husband,  by  the  artful  wicked  man  who 
has  brought  her  into  these  parts;  and  as  soon  as 
she  was  convinced  of  her  evil  ways,  he  left  her;  and 
she  has  been  at  my  house  ever  since,  crying,  and 
sobbing  enough  to  break  one's  heart,  and  when  my 
wife  attempts  to  comfort  her,  she  begins  weeping 
again,  twice  as  much  as  before;  and  says,  you  have 
been  a  faithful  wife  to  a  kind  and  an  affectionate 
husband;  but,  0!  what  a  wicked  and  ungrateful 
monster  I  have  been!  She  will  then  ask  us  if  she 
can  do  any  thing  for  us,  if  it  was  only  to  work  at  her 
needle,  stand  at  the  washing-tub,  or  even  weed  in 
the  garden,  as  she  fears,  since  the  gentleman  lias  left 
her,  she  shall  not  be  able  to  pay  for  her  board  ?  But, 
with  your  leave,  sir,  she  wishes  she  ma}^  lay  her  un- 
happy case  before  you;  as  she  much  desires  your  ad- 
vice. 

Loveg.  With  all  my  heart,  Edward,  but  it  will 
be  necessary  to  have  other  evidence,  to  hear  what 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  283 

slie  may  have  to  relate  on  such  a  story;  and  I  have 
no  doubt  but  Mr.  Worthy,  always  ready  for  every 
good  word  and  work,  will  attend  and  assist  me  with 
his  wise  and  good  advice.  I  will  call  upon  him  to- 
morrow morning,  and  send  you  word  directly  when 
she  shall  attend.     But  what  is  her  name? 

Edw.  Her  proper  name,  it  seems,  is  Chipman, 
though  she  came  into  these  parts  under  the  name  of 
Lady  Dash;  but  if  ever  that  name  is  mentioned  to 
her,  she  cries,  0,  let  me  never  hear  of  the  horrid 
name  of  Dash  any  more. 

Loveg.  Well,  Edward,  in  a  day  or  two  you  shall 
hear  from  me  again;  in  the  interval  present  her  with 
this  book  for  her  perusal.  [Mr.  Lovegood  gives  him 
"  Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion  in  the 
Soul,^^  and  retires. 

On  the  following  day  she  was  sent  for  to  Mr. 
Lovegood's.  Mr.  Worthy  attended:  the  young  wo- 
man was  introduced  by  Edward,  agitated  and  in  deep 
distress.] 

Loveg.  Come  in,  my  unfortunate  fellow-sinner,  sit 
down  until  your  mind  is  a  little  composed,  and  tell 
us  of  your  calamities. 

[She  falls  into  strong  hysterics,  and  at  intervals 
cries:  0  my  dear  husband,  his  heart  will  be  broken! 
0  my  level}'  forsaken  babe!  what  a  brute!  0  my 
most  dear  and  tender  father!  what  a  monster!  She 
afterwards  a  little  recovers,  and  cries.  How  can 
you  admit  so  vile  a  wretch  into  5'our  doors?  what 
an  ungrateful  monster  have  I  been  before  God  and 
man!] 

Loveg.  But  the  vilest  of  sinners  may  be  saved. — 
Be  calm;  and  let  us  hear  the  cause  of  your  distress. 
[After  several  attempts  Mrs.  C.  thus  begins  her 
story.] 

J\Trs.  Chipman.  Ah,  sir,  I  have  grieved  the  best  of 
parents;  forsaken  the   tenderest  of  husbands;  have 


284  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

left  my  dear  babe  behind  me;  and  all  through  the 
pride  and  wickedness  of  my  own  heart,  in  suffering 
myself  to  be  seduced  by  the  worst  of  men. 

Loveg.  But  if  you  are  not  somewhat  more  parti- 
cular in  relating  your  calamities,  I  feel  it  will  scarcely 
be  in  our  power  to  assist  you  with  our  advice. 

Chipm.  Sir,  my  father,  whose  name  is  Reader,  was 
the  best  of  husbands  to  my  mother,  the  kindest  of 
parents  to  his  children;  and  a  man  of  strict  integrity 
among  his  neighbours.  He  was,  by  profession,  a 
school-master  in  a  small  town  called  Locksbury,  in 
the  West  of  England;  and,  being  well-informed  him- 
self, he  gave  me  a  good  education.  But  his  family 
afflictions  have  been  very  severe:  for  my  eldest  bro- 
ther was  born  an  idiot,  my  next  brother  took  a  very 
wild  turn  indeed,  and  my  father  does  not  know 
whether  he  is  dead  or  alive,  as  he  went  abroad  and 
has  not  been  heard  of  these  four  years,  and  I  was  the 
next,  and  oh,  what  a  wretch  have  I  been! 

[She  is  again  too  much  overcome  to  continue  her 
story;  after  she  recovers,  she  is  addressed  by] 

J[Ir.  Worthy.  Mrs.  Chipman,  you  may  depend  upon 
it,  you  are  conversing  with  your  real  friends  and  best 
advisers.  {Mr.  Lovegood  adjoins) — Yes;  and  with 
such  friends  also  as  rejoice  over  you  in  the  depth  of 
all  your  sorrows;  trusting  in  God,  that  you  are  now 
blessed  with  repentance  unto  life. — But  continue  your 
story. 

Chipm.  After  my  birth,  it  was  near  seven  years 
before  my  mother  had  another  living  child;  but  her 
constitution  having  been  broken  by  different  miscar- 
riages, she  did  not  long  survive  the  birth  of  my  sister. 
Before  I  was  seduced,  by  that  man  who  has  left  me 
to  curse  my  folly,  it  was  my  greatest  consolation  to 
alleviate  my  father's  sorrows,  and  to  be  my  husband's 
joy.  And,  when  but  a  child,  I  could,  in  those  days, 
with  the  greatest  tenderness,  wait  on  my  dear  mo- 


DIALOGUE  xvr.  285 

ther  till  I  closed  her  e3'es  in  death;  and,  if  all  the 
world  had  told  me,  that  I  should  have  heen  such  a 
monster  of  iniquity  I  could  not  have  believed  them! 

Loveg.  Yes;  but  then  you  did  not  know  the  de- 
ceitfulness  and  wickedness  of  your  sinful  heart:  you 
had  nothing  proposed  to  you,  which  was  calculated  to 
draw  forth  its  evil  propensities  into  action. 

Chipm.  No;  nor  for  some  time  afterwards  could  I 
have  believed  that  I  should  have  turned  out  so  vile  a 
creature.  Though  so  young  as  I  then  was,  I  cannot 
tell  how  much  I  was  affected  at  my  mother's  death ; 
and  how  I  wept  while  I  followed  her  to  the  grave; 
and  afterwards  how  glad  1  was  to  wait  on  my  dear 
father,  who  would  never  marry  again  because  his  fa- 
mily was  already  too  large;  and  what  diligence  did  1 
then  show,  though  so  young,  to  my  poor  brother  and 
my  sickly  sister! 

JVor.  And  what  became  of  your  sickly  sister? 

Chipm.  Sir,  from  her  birth  she  continued  in  an  ill 
state  of  health;  grew  quite  deformed;  and,  when  she 
was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  died  of  a  decline.  I 
followed  her  to  the  grave,  and  saw  her  laid  upon  my 
mother's  cofHn,  who  had  been  buried  about  twelve 
years  before. — Surely  I  am  the  most  abominable 
wretch  that  ever  lived  upon  the  earth. 

Wor.  But  we  wait  to  hear  more  of  your  story: 
especially  that  part  of  it  whereby  you  were  led  into 
3'our  j)resent  unhappy  situation  of  distress. 

Chipm.  Oh,  sir,  the  nearer  I  come  to  that  part  of  my 
most  vile  conduct,  the  more  I  feel  myself  ashamed 
to  relate  it. 

Loveg.  But  the  more  you  are  ashamed  of  5"our 
conduct,  the  better  we  shall  be  inclined  to  assist  and 
relieve  you.     Tell  us  the  whole  without  reserve. 

Chipm.  Sir,  there  lived  a  young  man  in  our  town, 
whose  name  was  Chipman,  he  was  an  early  scholar 
of  my  father;  and  from  his  attention  and  good  disposi- 
25^ 


286  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tion,  he  much  esteemed  him.  He  was  by  occupa- 
tion a  carpenter  and  joiner,  and  having  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  some  business  for  himself,  he  again  re- 
turned to  my  father  for  some  farther  instructions  in 
drawing  and  arithmetic.  It  was  from  that  time  a 
connexion  w^as  formed  between  us.  After  he  was 
somewhat  established  in  business,  he  mentioned  to 
my  father  his  attachments  and  inclinations  towards 
xne;  and  I  also  was  happy  to  confess  my  real  af- 
fection towards  him. — 0,  how  it  cuts  my  heart  to 
tell,  how  my  dear  father  acted  on  this  occasion!  He 
called  me  his  dearest  right  hand;  I  was  his  dear  Je- 
mima, the  name  he  gave  me;  his  only  earthly  com- 
forter, after  all  his  most  severe  family  afflictions; 
but,  however  ill  he  could  spare  me  from  his  family, 
yet,  as  he  had  no  fortune  to  give  me,  he  would  not 
prevent  so  good  an  offer  for  mj^  future  settlement  in 
life ;  as  Mr.  Chipman  was  a  very  sober  and  indus- 
trious man,  and  advancing  in  a  good  line  of  business. 
Soon  afterwards  we  were  married.  \_She  again  weeps 
and  then  adds,]  and  I  shall  never,  never  forget  when 
my  dear  father  gave  me  away  at  the  church,  after 
the  service,  how  he  embraced  and  kissed  me;  then, 
how  he  embraced  me  and  my  husband  both  together, 
entreating  him  to  be  tender  and  affectionate  to  the 
best  of  daughters,  and  me  to  be  obedient  and  loving 
to  the  very  worthy  man  that  was  now  become  my 
husband ! 

JVor.  By  what  you  have  hitherto  related,  if  some 
parts  of  your  conduct  may  have  been  highly  culpa- 
ble, yet  we  rather  feel  for  you  as  an  object  of  com- 
miseration than  of  contempt.  But  when  you  have 
given  us  a  farther  narration  of  those  circumstances, 
which  have  brought  you  into  this  present  state  of  em- 
barrassment, we'shall  be  better  able  to  give  you  our 
advice. 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  there  never  lived  a  happier  pair 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  287 

than  Mr.  Chipman  and  I  were.  For  above  eighteen 
months  after  our  marriage,  it  seemed  to  be  our  whole 
study  to  please  and  oblige  each  other,  and  when  1  be- 
came pregnant,  he  was  doubly  attentive  to  make  me 
the  happiest  woman  upon  earth;  and  how  have  I  re- 
warded him  by  my  brutal  conduct!  I  have  done 
enough  to  send  the  best  of  husbands  with  a  broken 
heart  to  the  grave.      [*^gain  her  grief  is  excessive.] 

Loveg.  Let  not  these  exclamations  against  yourself 
interrupt  your  story;  we  serve  the  God  of  patience, 
and  with  much  patience  and  forbearance  we  wish  to 
hear  you  farther. 

Chipm.  About  a  year  and  a  half  after  our  marriage, 
that  artful  vile  man.  Sir  Charles  Dash,  who  has  an 
estate  in  our  parts,  though  he  seldom  lives  there,  be- 
gan to  lay  his  plans  for  my  ruin.  In  the  midst  of  his 
filthy  and  frothy  conversation,  I  too  often  gave  him  a 
smile  when  1  should  have  treated  him  with  disgust; 
though  for  awhile  1  treated  all  other  familiarities  with 
the  abhorrence  they  dese^wed.  Mr.  Chipman,  my 
husband,  now  began  to  get  into  a  considerable  way  of 
business  in  the  building  line;  and  was  frequently 
called,  at  a  distance  from  home,  to  undertake  the  alte- 
rations and  repairs  of  gentlemen's  houses  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood; and,  for  awhile,  1  could  count  the  hours 
with  anxiety  until  his  return ;  until  I  had  the  folly  to 
suffer  that  vile  wretch  to  entangle  me  in  his  affections, 
who  took  every  opportunity  to  accomplish  my  ruin, 
through  my  husband's  necessary  long  absence  from 
home. 

fVor.  But  this  accidental  circumstance  must  be 
considei'ed  as  an  alleviation  of  your  crime. 

Chipm.  0  no,  sir,  for  I  should  have  been  disgusted 
at  every  word  he  said;  and,  while  I  continued  for  a 
season  to  resist  his  vile  designs,  he  would  laugh  at 
my  prudish  formality,  and  ask  me,  how  I  could  con- 
Lne  myself  to  be  the  drudge  of  a  carpenter,  when  I 


288  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

had  sufficient  charms  to  manage  the  person  and  for- 
tune of  the  first  man  of  jDleasure  in  the  land?  {To 
Mr.  Lovegood.)  0,  sir,  had  I  been  possessed  of  the 
real  influence  of  that  religion,  which,  since  then,  I 
have  heard  you  preach,  the  empty  flattery  of  this  vile 
seducer  would  never  have  been  my  ruin. 

Loveg.  Had  you,  then,  no  religious  impressions  to 
guard  your  heart  against  the  horrid  purposes  of  this 
artful  man? 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  they  were  so 
faint,  tiiat  1  knew  not  how,  either  to  answer  his  flat- 
teries or  resist  his  importunities;  while  on  every 
occasion  he  would  treat  the  religion  of  the  Bible 
with  the  utmost  ridicule  and  contempt. 

Lovep".  Then,  to  the  eternal  reproach  of  infidelity, 
it  seems,  he  ever  declared  himself  to  he  one  of  that 
stamp;  and  knew  that  he  could  never  accomplish  his 
vile  designs  to  ruin  you  and  the  peace  of  your  family, 
until  he  could  persuade  you  that  the  pure  holy  reli- 
gion of  the  Bible  was  not  worth  your  minding.* 

*  The  reading  of  Sir  Charles  was  entirely  limited  to  the 
writings  of  the  modern  infidels  of  the  day;  from  them  he  had 
collected  the  following  passages,  which  he  would  quote  with 
an  air  of  impious  triumph:  "The  God  of  the  philosophers,  of 
the  Jews,  and  the  Christians,  is  nothing  more  than  a  chimera 
and  a  phantom."  He  was /ooZ  enough  to  conceive,  from  ano- 
ther Atheist,  that  "the  wonders  of  nature  are  far  from  pro- 
claiming a  God,  and  that  they  are  but  the  necessary  effects 
of  matter  prodigiously  diversified  ;"  so  that  according  to  these 
fools,  there  is  infinite  wisdom,  contrivance,  and  order  in  dead 
matter.  In  the  midst  of  all  his  wickedness  he  would  say, 
"there  is  no  means  of  knowing,  whether  there  be  a  God  or 
not]  whether  there  be  any  difference  between  good  and  evil?" 
and,  if  God  be  the  author  of  evil  according  to  Dr.  Priestley, 
Sir  Charles's  notions  ar^  nearly  right;  and  a  Socinian  and  an 
Atheist  are  no  very  distant  relations.  And  Sir  Charles  was 
so  near  a  brute,  he  could  not  bear  the  thoughts  of  life  without 
his  body;  he  would  therefore  say,  that  "the  immortality  of  the 
soul  was  a  dogma  of  barbarians,  gloomy  and  disheartening." 
The  only  two  books  on  divinity,  therefore,  he  ever  read  or  ad- 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  289 

Chipm.  Sir,  he  was  ever  telling  me,  that  the  in- 
junctions of  a  strict  adherence  to  the  marriage  con- 
tract, was  nothing  but  an  artful  design  of  the  priests, 
and  calculated  only  to  restrain  our  natural  passions, 
which  all  had  a  right  to  indulge  as  they  chose  best. 

Loveg.  And  could  you  give  credit  to  all  this  abo- 
minable and  beastly  talk  ? 

Chipm.  Credit  to  such  talk! — 0,  no,  sir;  but  in- 
fatuated by  his  enchanting  promises,  and  by  the 
splendour  of  his  appearance  in  life,  my  ruin  was  ac- 
complished.— What  could  possess  me  to  be  so  beastly 
and  so  vile?     (She  weeps  excessively.) 

Wor.  (To  Mr.  Lovegood.)  As  this  unhappy  young 
woman  has  told  us  the  substance  of  her  story,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  that,  notwithstanding  her  indiscretion 
in  an  unguarded  hour,  it  is  not  impracticable  to  re- 
store her  to  her  former  connexions,  and  to  render  her 
future  life  a  comfort  to  herself. 

Chipm.  Sir,  it  is  utterly  impossible. 

War:  Why  should  you  say  so? 

Chipm.  I  shall  be  eternally  ashamed  again  to  enter 
a  town,  in  which  I  must  live  the  contempt,  the  ab- 
horrence, and  the  disgrace  of  all  who  knew  me. 

mired,  were,  Priestley  on  Necessity,  and  on  Matter  and  Spirit : 
the  latter  book  brought  things  so  nearly  to  his  own  mind,  that 
there  was  no  existence  but  that  which  is  material ;  that  he 
found  one  step  farther,  a  denial  of  the  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection would  bring  them  to  the  same  point;  that  "death  is 
an  eternal  sleep."  He  was  highly  pleased  with  the  philoso- 
phy which  taught,  that  "  virtue  and  probity  in  private  life  is 
but  the  habit  of  actions  personally  useful;"  and  he  was 
charmed  beyond  any  thing  at  the  sentiments  of  Volney,  that 
"  personal  interest  is  the  only  and  universal  criterion  of  the 
merit  of  human  actions;"  and  as  to  all  chastity,  as  it  respects 
the  marriage  contract,  he  would  say,  that  "  modesty  in  the 
female  sex  was  but  refined  voluptuousness,  and  morals  have  no- 
thing to  fear  from  the  generous  passion  of  love."  SucTi  were  the 
adopted  sentiments  of  Sir  Charles;  no  wonder  that  a  man  of 
his  vile  principles  was  so  vile  in  every  part  of  his  conversation. 


290  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

TVor.  Yes;  but  when  they  see  you  an  humble  pe- 
nitent, the  compassions  of  the  people  will  be  excited, 
and  the  reproach  cast  upon  your  character  will,  by 
degrees,  wear  off. 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  the  cruel  way  in  which  I  treated 
that  worthy  man,  to  whom  I  was  united,  after  I  be- 
came connected  with  Sir  Charles,  must  for  ever  have 
done  away  all  his  former  friendship  and  love  towards 
me;  and  then  the  scandalous  manner  in  which  we 
were,  in  a  measure,  driven  out  of  the  town,  and  the 
disgraceful  uproar  made  throughout  the  neighbourhood 
by  my  vile  conduct,  shame  entirely  forbids  me  to  re- 
late. 0,  sir,  I  am  completely  ruined,  and  must  for 
ever  be  abhorred  by  all  that  ever  knew  me !  But  if, 
by  taking  in  needle  work,  keeping  a  school,  or  by  go- 
ing out  to  any  sort  of  labour,  I  can  but  earn  myself  a 
iDorsel  of  bread,  for  I  was  always  used  to  an  active  life, 
1  shall  most  thankfully  and  willingly  submit  to  it. 

Wot.  What,  then,  do  you  think  it  would  be  of  no 
avail,  if  your  father  should  be  written  to,  informing 
him,  that  your  connexion  with  Sir  Charles  is  now  at  an 
end?  and  might  he  not  be  a  successful  advocate  with 
your  husband,  when  he  is  given  to  understand,  how 
grieved  you  are  at  your  past  conduct  towards  him? 

Chipm.  I  can  have  no  objection,  that  my  dear  fa- 
ther and  husband  should  be  informed  how  much 
ashamed  I  am  of  my  most  vile  and  base  conduct  to- 
wards them.  [To  Mr.  Lovegood.)  But,  dear  sir,  if 
I  might,  I  had  rather  live  on  bread  and  water  where  I 
am,  than  again  grieve  my  dear  father  and  husband  by 
my  return;  or  be  removed  at  a  distance  from  your 
ministry,  by  which,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  I  have 
been  reclaimed  from  my  most  abominable  ways! 

Wor.  Perhaps  it  will  be  an  encouragement  to  our 
worthy  minister,  if  you  tell  us  how  your  mind  was 
first  impressed  when  you  came  to  Brookfield  church? 

Chipm.  Sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  acknowledge,  that  it 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  291 

was  veiy  little  more  than  mere  curiosity  wliich  first 
induced  me  and  Sir  Charles  to  come  to  church;  for, 
I  confess,  that  public  worship  had,  before  then,  been 
too  much  neglected  by  me;  and  entirely  so  when  I 
became  connected  with  Sir  Charles. 

Loveg.  I  am  afraid,  then,  that  a  neglect  of  public 
worship  was  one  of  the  causes  of  your  present  mis- 
fortunes. 

Chipm.  No,  sir,  wlien  I  lived  v/ith  my  father,  and 
even  for  some  time  after  our  marriage,  we  attended 
public  worship,  if  not  constantly,  yet  more  regularly 
than  most  of  our  neighbours;  but,  with  us,  public 
worship  had  been  brought  into  very  general  neglect, 
for  we  knew  nothing  of  our  non-resident  rector,  but 
as  he  came  upon  the  business  of  his  tithes;  and  as  for 
his  curate,  he  was  much  more  noticed  as  being  the 
best  sportsman  and  the  cleverest  dancer,  than  for  the 
conscientious  discharge  of  the  duties  of  his  office. — 
0,  sir,  had  we  been  blessed  with  such  a  minister  as  1 
have  found  in  you,  I  humbly  trust,  I  should  not  have 
been  given  over  to  such  a  wicked  course! 

JVor.  I  confess,  as  you  sat  at  no  great  distance  from 
our  pew,  I  saw  you  considerably  affected,  while  Sir 
Charles  appeared  not  a  little  irritated  and  displeased. 
Chipm.  0,  sir,  when  I  first  came  into  Brook  field 
church,  I  was  immediately  struck  with  solemn  sur- 
prise.— It  appeared  to  me,  as  though  I  had  never  been 
at  church  before.  With  us,  going  to  church  was  no- 
thing but  a  matter  of  form,  and  the  few  who  attended 
seemed  to  have  little  more  to  do  than  to  settle  the 
visits  for  the  week;  but,  as  to  real  devotion,  I  con- 
fess, I  never  knew  what  it  meant,  until  I  came  into 
your  church.  0 !  sir,  how  was  I  struck  to  see  a  coun- 
try village  attended  as  on  a  fair  day,  by  people  from 
every  quarter,  all  occupying  their  accustomed  seats, 
with  so  much  devotion,  decency,  and  order;  and, 
how  I  was  farther  struck,  when  you  and  your  large 


292  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

family,  and  that  dear  worthy  man  of  God  and  his  fa- 
mily, followed  to  complete  the  most  devout  and  seri- 
ous congregation  I  ever  beheld  with  my  eyes. 

Wor.  But,  during  the  time  of  divine  service,  what 
part  of  it  proved  the  most  impressive  upon  your  mind? 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  when  that  awful  sentence  from  the 
second  lesson  was  read  against  me,  with  so  much  so- 
lemnity, "Marriage  is  honourable  in  all,  and  the  bed 
undefiled;  but  whoremongers  and  adulterers  God 
will  judge;" — what  I  then  felt  I  cannot  express;  and 
it  is  impossible  to  tell  with  what  an  indignant  and 
contemptuous  sneer  I  was  treated  by  Sir  Charles,  im- 
mediately as  he  perceived  my  confusion  and  remorse. 

Wor.  No  wonder,  that  a  man  of  his  vile  character 
should  treat  you  as  he  did,  under  such  circumstances. 
But  was  there  nothing  in  the  sermon  that  particularly 
impressed  your  mind?  for,  I  think,  on  that  Sunday, 
our  minister,  though  not  knowing  your  character, 
was  most  providentiall}^  led  to  the  choice  of  a  text 
which  was  remarkably  striking,  as  being  so  imme- 
diately applicable  to  your  unhappy  situation.  I  think 
the  words  were  these:  "Can  a  woman  forget  her 
sucking  child,  that  she  should  not  have  compassion 
on  the  son  of  her  womb?  yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  I 
will  not  forget  thee." 

Chipm.  Sir,  immediately  as  the  text  was  men- 
tioned, I  was  so  remarkably  struck,  that,  for  awhile, 
in  the  midst  of  my  confusion,  all  my  recollection 
failed  me;  and  as  soon  as  I  was  a  little  recovered,  I 
heard  Sir  Charles  muttering  in  my  ear  the  most  cruel 
taunts  and  blasphemous  invectives,  for  my  weakness 
and  superstition,  as  he  called  it.  [To  Mr.  Lovegood.) 
But,  0  sir,  was  it  possible  for  me  not  to  feel,  hard- 
hearted wretch  as  I  have  been,  when  you  gave  such 
a  character  of  the  monster  who  could  forsake  her 
sucking  child,  and  when  that  very  monster  was  then 
before  you.     (Mrs.  Chipman  weeps.) 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  293' 

Lovcg.  We  esteem  all  your  tears  and  sorrows  as  a 
matter  of  thankfulness  before  God:  while  we  trust, what 
you  are  now  led  to  feel  of  the  evil  and  bitter  conse- 
quences of  sin,  will  prove  to  your  eternal  good.  But, 
if  Sir  Charles  behaved  so  cruelly  towards  you,  even 
when  in  the  church,  I  should  suppose,  when  you  re- 
tired home  to  your  lodgings,  his  conduct  must  have 
been  more  abundantly  cruel  and  severe. 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  it  is  impossible  I  could  meet  with 
more  than  I  deserved:  it  was  fit  that  I  should  reap 
the  fruits  of  my  own  misconduct.  How  could  I  ex- 
pect to  be  served  better  by  him,  when  I  consider 
how  I  had  served  my  husband,  my  babe,  my  father, 
and  my  God!  But,  after  we  left  the  church,  he  first 
began  more  in  the  way  of  flattery  than  abuse;  won- 
dering that  1  was  not  more  upon  my  guard  than  to 
be  overcome,  as  he  called  it,  by  the  cant  of  a  wdiining 
and  an  artful  priest:  and  that,  though  I  had  been  ex- 
posing him  and  myself,  by  sufTering  my  passions  to 
be  overcome,  by  my  superstitious  reverence  for  re- 
ligion, yet  that  he  was  still  inclined  to  make  me  a 
happy  woman,  provided  I  would  but  follow  tlic  dic- 
tates of  reason  and  nature,  which  allowed  and  directed 
every  one  to  be  happy  in  the  way  that  ihey  liked  best. 
0,  sir,  I  am  ashamed  farther  to  tell  you  with  what 
blasphemous  contempt  he  spoke  against  the  Christian 
religion;  and,  with  what  ridicule  your  character  was 
treated  by  him,  on  account  of  those  faithful  admoni- 
tions which  brought  home  to  my  heart  a  conviction 
of  my  evil  ways. 

Loveg.  But,  1  suppose,  he  soon  discontinued  his 
flattery,  when  he  perceived  that  it  was  of  no  avail? 

Chipm.  Sir,  1  was  so  affected,  that  I  fell  dov/n  upon 
my  knees;  beseeching  him  to  show  compassion  to  a 
ruined  and  most  afflicted  wretch,  who  dared  not  any- 
longer  continue  a  conduct  so  disgraceful  and  abomi- 
nable before  God  and  man.  Directly  he  spurned  me 
VOL.  I. — 26 


294  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

from  him;  swore  at  me  in  the  profanest  manner; 
treated  me  in  terms  the  most  vulgar  and  cruel;  then 
called  for  the  servant  that  waited  on  us,  crying,  "  See 
what  this  religion  has  done  for  this  superstitious  fool: 
1  shall  go  and  take  lodgings  for  three  days  at  Maple- 
ton,  and  if  in  that  time,  she  gets  rid  of  her  religious 
qualms,  she  may  write  a  line  and  send  it  up  to  the 
George;  but,  if  not,  1  shall  leave  her  to  her  own  su- 
perstitious folly:  such  whining  hypocrites  will  never 
do  for  me." 

Loveg.  After  this,  I  suppose  you  saw  nothing  of 
Sir  Charles? 

Chipm.  Yes,  sir,  he  came  the  third  day  down  to 
our  lodgings,  and  at  the  sight  of  him  I  quite  fainted 
away;  and  thus  he  has  left  me  the  most  disconsolate 
creature  that  ever  lived  on  the  earth. 

JVor.  Well,  at  all  events,  your  father  shall  be 
written  to;  it  will  be  highly  proper  that  the  good 
man  should  know  of  these  circumstances.  (To  Mr. 
Lovegood.)     Will  you  undertake  the  office? 

Loveg.  With  all  my  heart,  sir,  as  I  do  not  know 
that  the  young  woman  can  give  us  any  farther  infor- 
mation. With  your  leave,  I  will  retire  and  write  di- 
rectly, and  bring  it  to  your  house  to-morrow,  to  see 
if  it  meets  with  your  approbation. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  then  1  will  walk  home  and  expect 
to  see  you  to-morrow  morning.  {To  Edward.)  But, 
Edward,  you  must  not  let  this  poor  unfortunate  crea- 
ture want;  I  shall  be  answerable  for  all  expenses  un- 
til these  matters  are  settled. 

Edw.  Poor  thing!  she  does  not  put  us  to  much  ex- 
pense: the  grief  of  mind  she  suffers,  almost  prevents 
her  from  taking  any  food.  If  your  honour  pleases, 
I  shall  be  very  glad  to  give  her  all  she  wants. 

Chipm.  0,  what  tenderness  to  such  a  wretch!  this 
is  Christianity  indeed!  0,  that  I  had  known  more 
of  such  Christianity  before  I  had  known  that  wretched 
man! 


DIALOGUE  XVI.  295 

Wor.  But,  Mr.  Lovegood,  on  an  occasion  like  this, 
1  suppose  you  will  not  let  us  part  without  offering  up 
a  prayer. 

[Mr.  Lovegood  immediately  acquiesces,  and  the 
following  prayer  is  offered  up: 


0  thou  God  of  infinite  compassion!  we,  thy  most 
vile  and  sinful  creatures,  approach  the  throne  of  thy 
grace,  trusting  alone  in  that  mercy  of  thine,  pro- 
cured even  for  the  chief  of  sinners,  through  the  re- 
demption that  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord !  We  have 
all  sinned  against  heaven  and  before  thee;  and,  in- 
stead of  being  worthy  to  be  numbered  among  thy 
children,  we  humbly  acknowledge  how  justly  we 
might  have  been  given  over  to  suffer  the  penalties  of 
eternal  death:  but  blessed  be  God  that  we  have  been 
brought  upon  our  knees  in  thy  sight,  that  each  may 
cry  for  himself,  <'God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!" 
Yea,  and  blessed,  for  ever  blessed  be  God,  that  we  are 
seeking  mercy  through  his  atonement,  who  is  «able 
to  save,  to  the  uttermost,  them  that  come  to  God 
through  him!"  And  0,  most  holy  Redeemer,  thou 
hast  "loved  us  and  given  thyself  for  us;"  thy  most 
precious  blood  is  of  infinite  value  for  our  redemption ! 
thou  hast  "put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  thyself!" 
and,  thou  hast  given  us  the  word  of  thy  promise,  that 
"whosoever  cometh  unto  thee,  thou  wilt  in  no  wise 
cast  out:"  and,  now  with  weeping  eyes  and  broken 
hearts,  we  humbly  cry.  Save,  0  Lord,  save  us  for 
thy  mercies'  sake.  And  in  an  especial  manner  be- 
hold the  poor  contrite  sinner  before  thee;  till  now 
ignorant  of  thee;  ignorant  of  the  deceitfulness  and 
desperate  wickedness  of  her  own  heart!  We  lament, 
how  awfully  she  has  been  seduced,  and  misled  by  the 
vile  treachery  of  others,  and  by  the  corruptions  of  her 
Qwn  nature,    But^  lo !  the  poor  penitent  now  humbles 


296  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

herself  before  thee,  and  cries,  "Behold,  lam  vile!'^ 
And  while  she  thus  repents  and  abhors  herself  in  dust 
and  ashes,  as  in  thy  sight,  0,  thou  most  tender  wit- 
ness of  the  weepings  and  wailings  of  her  broken  and 
contrite  spirit,  fulfil  thy  protiiise;  let  thy  free  for- 
giving love  be  her  portion,  and  mercifully  prevent 
her  from  being  overwhelmed  by  the  miseries  and 
sorrows  of  her  own  mind!  Heal  the  deep  wounds 
which  have  been  made  on  her  heart,  by  the  hateful 
and  deceitful  consequences  of  sin  I  restore  her  by  thy 
blessed  Spirit;  imprint  thy  dear  image  upon  her,  and 
bid  her  go  and  sin  no  more.  Let  thy  most  merciful 
pity  be  vouchsafed  to  her  disconsolate  husband  and 
afflicted  parent!  0  that  her  unhappy  departure  from 
thee,  might  be  made  the  providential  event  in  th}^ 
wise  hands,  of  bringing  them  near  to  thy  blessed  self; 
that  all  of  them,  being  united  to  thee,  may  feel  the 
restoration  of  that  endearing  union  towards  each 
other,  which  is  the  happy  privilege  of  all  those  who 
have  been  blessed  with  thy  love,  and  tasted  of  thy 
salvation.  Grant  this,  most  merciful  Father,  alone 
for  thy  Son's  sake,  our  most  gracious  Mediator,  and 
compassionate  Redeemer.] 

[After  this  prayer,  Mrs.  Chipman  being  very  much 
affected,  departed  with  Edward  to  the  Golden  Lion; 
Mr.  Lovegood  retired  to  his  study  to  write  to  Mr. 
Reader,  and  Mr.  Worthy  went  home  to  Broqkfield 
Hall.] 


DIALOGUE   XVII. 


MR.  WORTHY  AND  MR.  LOVEGOOD. 


THE   STORY  OF  MRS.  CHIPMAN  CONTINUED. 

The  day  following  Mr.  Lovegood  waited  on  Mr. 
Worthy  with  the  letter  designed  for  Mr.  Reader; 
this,  having  met  with  his  approbation,  was  immedi- 
ately sent  by  the  post  to  the  disconsolate  parent  of 
the  unhappy  Mrs.  Chipman.  A  copy  of  which  I 
have  next  to  present  the  reader. 

"  Sir, 
"Though  I  truly  sympathize  with  you  in  the  loss 
you  must  have  sustained,  by  the  unhappy  elopement 
of  your  daugliter  from  her  husband;  yet,  I  can  bless 
our  most  merciful  God,  that  I  have  it  in  my  power 
to  relate  to  you  a  circumstance  which,  I  trust,  will 
be  a  considerable  alleviation  of  your  distress.  Sir 
Charles  Dash,  the  gentleman  by  whom  your  daugh- 
ter was  most  cruelly  seduced,  thought  proper  to  rest 
a  few  days  in  the  pleasant  vale,  in  which  our  village 
is  situated,  in  his  way  to  Newmarket.  During  his 
stay  here,  I  fear  no  better  principle  than  mere  curi- 
osity led  him  to  the  church.  In  the  progress  of  my 
duty,  being  minister  of  the  parish,  that  chapter  was 
read  in  which  are  these  words,  "  Whoremongers  and 
adulterers  God  will  judge;"  and,  in  the  course  of 
my  sermon,  without  knowing  any  thing  of  the  cha- 
racters who  attended,  I  made  some  observations, 
which  have  been  so  impressed  upon  her  mind,  as 
to  produce;,  I  humbly  trust,  that  "repentance  which 
will  never  be  repented  of."  After  being  thus  con* 
26* 


298  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

vinced  of  her  evil  conduct,  she  presently  became 
the  object  of  perfect  hatred  to  the  man  by  whom  she 
had  been  so  treacherously  misled;  and  he  has  now 
most  unmercifully  left  her  a  stranger,  in  a  strange 
country,  without  a  shilling  for  her  subsistence:  such 
have  been  the  effects  of  his  brutal  love,  and  such  the 
unhappy  state  to  which  your  daughter  has  beem  re- 
duced thereby.  One  alleviation,  however,  of  her 
sufferings  is,  that  she  is  in  the  hands  of  those,  who, 
having  obtained  mercy  from  God  our  Saviour  them- 
selves, love  to  manifest  the  same  to  others.  A  most 
respectable  gentleman,  of  an  ample  fortune  and  a 
liberal  mind,  has,  for  the  present,  engaged  to  supply 
her  wants,  and  has  employed  me  to  enter  into  this 
correspondence  with  you,  that  we  may  know  how 
far  it  will  be  practicable  again  to  restore  her  to  her 
family  connexions.  She  has  already  communicated 
to  us  the  principal  circumstance  of  her  former  situa- 
tion in  life;  and,  while  justice  demands  it  of  me,  I 
am  happy  to  observe,  that  it  is  impossible  for  any 
one  to  discover  greater  tenderness  of  mind  or  deeper 
contrition  of  spirit.  She  cannot  speak  of  you,  dear 
sir,  but  a  flood  of  tears  immediately  bursts  from  her 
eyes,  while  she  execrates  her  vile  ingratitude  to  the 
best  of  parents,  and  a  parent  also,  whose  family  af- 
flictions have  been  so  severe.  The  like  character 
she  also  gives  of  her  affectionate  and  attentive  hus- 
band, and  has  not  language  to  express  how  she  ab- 
hors herself  for  grieving  the  heart  of  one  so  worthy 
of  her  affections,  for  the  sake  of  another  in  every 
point  of  view  so  worthless  and  so  vile.  Being  my- 
self both  a  husband  and  a  father,  I  know  what  I 
must  have  felt,  had  it  been  my  unhappy  lot  to  have 
met  with  such  an  afflictive  dispensation  in  my  fami- 
ly; it  is,  therefore,  with  the  greater  tenderness,  that 
I  can  sympathize  with  you.  But,  dear  sir,  may  I 
hope  and  trust,  that  it  will  not  be  in  vain  to  request 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  299 

you  to  bestow  forgiveness  on  your  once  most  obedi- 
ent, though  afterwards  ungrateful,  yet  now,  truly  pe- 
nitent and  afflicted  daughter;  whose  heart  is  so  se- 
verely broken,  that  it  truly  breaks  our  hearts  to  be- 
hold her  daily  and  nightly  grief:  and,  indeed,  she  is 
so  completely  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  remorse 
for  her  sins,  before  God  and  man,  that  it  is  a  question 
with  us,  if  she  can  long  survive  the  sorrows  of  her 
own  mind.  For  the  sake,  therefore,  of  that  blessed 
Saviour,  whose  mercies  are  so  free  to  the  vilest  of 
our  penitent  race,  pass  by  those  unguarded  hours  of 
your  daughter's  life;  let  the  principal  blame  rest 
upon  the  head  of  the  vile  seducer,  and  restore  to  your 
recollection  what  she  was  in  her  chaster  days,  when 
it  was  the  joy  of  her  heart  to  show  the  most  filial 
obedience,  and  afiectionate  attention  to  a  parent  she 
still  so  dearly  loves,  and  so  highly  reveres.  I  confess, 
I  find  it  is  to  me  a  much  greater  difficulty  to  decide, 
how  far  it  becomes  me  to  be  her  advocate  with  her 
husband  as  well  as  with  her  father.  She  confesses 
the  bond  of  her  marriage  connexion  is  dissolved;  and 
she  humbly  acknowledges,  that  were  she  doomed  to 
spend  the  residue  of  her  days  in  a  state  of  the  most 
pensive  widowhood,  it  would  be  the  least  punish- 
ment she  deserves;  nor  can  she  ever  suppose  herself 
again  worthy  to  embrace  her  dear  child,  which  she 
unnaturally  left  when  it  still  needed  the  fostering 
care  of  a  mother's  arms. 

"Under  these  considerations  I  determined,  that  it 
might  be  the  most  prudent  step  not  to  correspond 
with  her  husband,  but  with  her  father,  on  this  most 
unhappy  event;  and  to  leave  you  to  converse  with 
your  son-in-law,  and  then  to  transmit  your  answer 
to  this  address.  1  have  already  mentioned,  that  al- 
most every  circumstance,  relative  to  this  unhappy 
affair,  has  been  communicated  to  us  by  her;  but  an 
event,  about  a  public  disturbance,  which,  she  says, 


300  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

originated  in  her  misconduct,  and,  on  account  of 
which,  she  conceives  she  will  be  for  ever  forbidden 
to  make  her  appearance  any  more  in  your  neighbour- 
hood, she  has  not  fully  explained.  If  you  think  it 
proper,  confidentially,  to  relate  the  particulars  of  that 
event,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  the  only  advantage 
I  shall  take  of  it  will  be  to  exert  myself  still  farther 
to  assist  and  console,  by  every  effort  in  my  power,  a 
poor  unfortunate  young  woman,  originally  dear  to 
you,  by  the  purity  and  simplicity  of  her  affectionate 
obedience,  and  now  not  less  dear  to  me,  as  an  humble 
penitent  won  to  God  our  Saviour  by  the  ministry  of 
"Your  unknown  friend, 

and  servant,  for  Christ's  sake, 

Lower  Brookfield,  ,^  x  , , 

near  Mapleton.  BeNJAMIN  LoVEGOOD. 


About  a  fortnight  after  the  above  letter  was  sent, 
Mr.  Reader  returned  the  following  answer: 

"Rev.  Sir, 
*'  I  conceive  myself  unutterably  obliged  to  you, 
for  your  very  great  kindness  and  attention  manifested 
towards  my  unfortunate  daughter.  No  doubt,  but 
you  find  yourself  sufficient!}^  repaid  by  the  approba- 
tion of  your  own  mind,  for  the  great  goodness  you 
have  testified  on  this  occasion,  while  you  have  still 
to  look  forward  to  a  future  day,  in  which  you  will 
receive  a  full  reward  at  the  hands  of  the  Almighty 
for  that  uprightness  of  heart  you  have  manifested 
towards  one,  that  I  thought  might  have  been  suffi- 
ciently guarded  from  such  evils,  by  the  virtuous 
principles,  which,  from  her  childhood,  I  conceived 
it  my  duty  to  impress  upon  her  mind.  Amidst 
the  deep  grief  I  have  sustained  at  the  revolt  of  my 
dear  child,  from  the  paths  of  virtue  and  morality,  I 


DIALOGUE  XVII. 


301 


am  happy  she  is  now  convinced  of  her  error;  and 
sincerely  pray,  that  she  may  abide  by  the  good  re- 
solutions she  has  been  able  to  re-assume.  1  at  once 
submit,  kind  sir,  to  the  requisition  you  make  on  my 
daughter's  behalf.  Assure  her,  therefore,  that  I 
freely  forgive  her,  and  shall  again  receive  her,  with- 
out the  most  distant  token  of  my  displeasure,  as  I 
trust  her  repentance  has  proved  a  sufiicient  atonement 
for  her  crimes:  and,  indeed,  her  former  good  con- 
duct, before  she  was  seduced  by  that  wicked  man, 
ever  gave  me  such  evident  demonstration  of  the  na- 
tural goodness  of  her  heart,  that  it  were  highly  un- 
charitable, not  to  suppose  that  her  repentance  is 
sincere;  these  unhappy  days  of  her  folly  and  indis- 
cretion, I  shall  therefore  bury  in  eternal  oblivion. 
Assure  her,  therefore,  I  shall  be  much  grieved  and 
affected,  if  the  unhappy  fracas,  which,  she  says,  she 
is  ashamed  to  relate,  should  prevent  her  from  ac- 
cepting this,  my  affectionate  invitation  for  her  return; 
and,  as  you  wish  to  understand  that  circumstance,  1 
am  free  to  relate  it.  My  worthy  son-in-law,  a  man 
of  most  excellent  natural  inclinations,  who  had  un- 
fortunately too  much  proof  of  the  evil  propensities 
of  my  daughter,  from  her  uncivil  and  unkind  beha^ 
viour,  by  first  thwarting  him  upon  all  occasions,  and 
then  embracing  every  opportunity  to  receive  the  ad- 
dresses of  Sir  Charles,  had  soon  too  much  reason  to 
suspect  his  vile  intent.  He  therefore  for  once  feigned 
a  necessary  absence  from  home  on  his  business,  and 
returned  at  an  unexpected  hour.  By  this  stratagem, 
he  detected  that  wicked  man  in  his  abominable  de- 
signs: and  not  having  sufficient  property  to  avenge 
himself  in  course  of  law,  can  you  wonder,  sir,  if  Mr. 
Chipman  should  have  exceeded  the  rules  of  modera- 
tion in  the  revenge  he  was  excited  to  take  against 
the  man,  from  whom  he  had  received  such  cruel  in- 
juries?    Armed  with  horse-^whips,  he  and  one  of  his 


302  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

men,  by  force  entered  the  chamber,  where  they  dis- 
covered m}^  daughter  and  this  libidinous  wretch: 
thus  armed,  they  gave  him  one  of  the  severest  flageU 
lations  man  could  well  receive.  But  could  it  be  se- 
verer than  such  a  brutal  and  treacherous  conduct  de- 
served at  his  hands?  Being  thus  driven  out  of  the 
house,  he  was  followed  with  no  less  severity  through 
the  town.  He  was  thrown  into  the  kennel  by  a  mob 
of  children  in  the  streets,  while  the  people  at  large 
eagerly  testified  their  approbation  of  Mr.'Chipman's 
metiiod,  if  not  of  legal,  yet  of  laudable  revenge,  in 
their  general  outcry  against  a  man  so  deservedly 
detested,  as  the  destroyer  of  the  peace  of  one  of  the 
most  happy  families  in  the  town.  At  length,  how- 
ever. Sir  Charles,  with  great  difficulty  got  to  his 
lodgings;  soon  afterwards  he  was  followed  thither  by 
my  daughter;  they  both  made  an  early  elopement 
together  the  next  morning,  and,  after  that,  what  be- 
came of  them  was  a  matter  entirely  unknown  to  us 
until  your  letter  was  received. 

"As,  with  much  delicacy,  you  ask  my  advice, 
how  far  it  may  be  practicable  to  attempt  a  reconci- 
liation between  my  daughter  and  her  husband;  so  1 
find  as  much  difficulty  in  giving  my  advice.  You 
say,  my  daughter  is  so  true  a  penitent,  and  is  now 
so  deeply  affected  at  her  past  offences,  that  you  have 
your  fears,  whether  she  can  survive  her  grief;  and  it 
hiuch  concern^  me  to  observe,  that  the  revival  of 
her  affection  to  her  husband,  must  be  attended  with 
additional  grief  to  her  mind,  when  she  is  informed, 
that  Mr.  Chipman  has  been  so  deeply  affected  at  this 
unhappy  event,  that  he  sunk  under  melancholy  and 
dejection  of  spirit.  This  brought  on  a  bilious  fever, 
which,  for  several  days,  we  thought  would  have 
terminated  in  his  death:  and,  though  he  is  reco- 
vered from  the  most  dangerous  crisis  of  the  disease, 
yet,  f  fear,  the  effects  of  it  he  will  not  long  survive. 


DIALOGUE  XVll.  303 

lie  has  no  spirits  left;  his  business  he  totally  neg- 
lects; and,  whenever  he  thinks  of  my  dauo;hter,  or 
beholds  the  dear  little  infant  she  has  cruelly  left  be- 
hind, he  is  again  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  floods 
of  tears;  and  though  I  and  Mr.  Fribble,  the  curate  of 
our  town,  do  all  we  can  to  divert  him  by  reading 
the  news,  or  by  an  innocent  game  at  cards,  1  fear, 
that  detestable  seducer  will  be  the  death  of  one  who, 
I  believe,  was  naturall}^  as  good-hearted  as  most  that 
are  to  be  met  with  in  the  present  day. 

"Think,  kind  sir,  what  a  painful  task  it  was  to 
me,  to  read  your  letter  to  my  son-in-law-,  in  a  state 
so  debilitated  and  weak;  and,  though  1  did  it  with 
all  possible  tenderness  and  attention  to  his  feeling 
mind,  yet  it  opened  the  sluices  of  his  affection  be- 
yond what  I  can  possibly  express,  and  it  was  with 
much  difficulty,  that  at  length,  he  cried,  <Tell 
my  wife,  I  freely  forgive  her;  but,  though  a  dying 
man,  how  can  I  forgive  the  wretch,  who  has  destroyed 
the  peace  of  my  mind,  and  torn  my  darling  from 
my  bosom  !' 

"I  leave  it  with  you,  sir,  to  break  these  painful 
circumstances  to  my  unfortunate  daughter  as  you 
may  judge  best.  So  far  as  her  conduct  has  been  a 
grief  and  injury  to  me,  again  I  repeat  it,  I  freely 
forgive  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  but,  from 
the  declining  state  of  her  husband's  health,  I  have 
deferred  writing  for  above  a  week.  I  fear  he  will 
soon  forget  all  his  sorrows,  in  being  speedily  laid  in 
the  silent  grave.  He  is,  how^ever,  a  man  naturally 
of  a  very  good  mind,  and  is  now  endeavouring  to 
fortify  himself  against  that  solemn  event,  by  making 
his  peace  with  God,  according  to  the  best  of  his  abili- 
ty and  knowledge.  I  am,  Rev.  Sir,  with  many  thanks, 
for  your  great  kindness  and  attention  to  my  daughter, 
"Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
LocksburyjMay  15^  James  Reader/' 


304  VILLAGE   DIALOGUES. 

Immediately  upon  the  reception  of  the  above  let- 
ter, Mr.  Lovegood  consulted  Mr.  Worthy  how  they 
had  best  act  upon  it.  They  not  only  had  to  lament 
the  strange  dark  conceptions  of  Mr.  Reader's  mind, 
as  it  respected  his  knowledge  of  the  Gospel,  though 
in  himself  a  well-intentioned  man,  but  were  very 
apprehensive  of  the  effects  it  must  have  on  Mrs. 
Chipman's  feelings.  They  were  both,  however,  of 
the  same  judgment,  that  the  contents  of  the  letter 
could  not  be  kept  back  from  her,  whatever  painful 
sensations  might  be  created  thereby. 

They  conceived  also  that  a  second  interview  simi- 
lar to  the  former,  would  be  more  painful  to  her  feel- 
ings, under  this  new  circumstance  of  the  dying  situ- 
ation of  her  husband.  It  was  at  length  judged  best 
that  Mr.  Lovegood  should  send  her  father's  letter, 
for  private  perusal,  together  with  another  letter 
from  himself,  preparing  her  for  its  trying  contents. 
This  he  wrote  with  much  tenderness  and  discretion, 
begging  her  to  prepare  her  mind,  by  prayer  and 
resignation  to  God,  to  say  on  this  event,  "Thy  will 
be  done." 

Edward  was  accordingly  sent  for  and  directed 
how  to  act,  and  afterwards  to  inform  Mr.  Lovegood 
and  Mr.  Worthy  of  the  result.  Edward  wishing  to 
have  some  one  else  in  his  house,  on  this  occasion, 
requested  Henry  Littleworth  would  be  there;  who, 
though  once  such  a  profane  and  dissipated  rake,  was 
now  the  admiration  of  the  neighbourhood,  for  the 
wisdom,  and  goodness,  and  purity  of  his  life.  He, 
with  his  sister  Nancy,  came  down,  therefore,  from 
Gracehill  Farm,  that  they  might  be  there  while 
Mr.  Reader's  letter  was  laid  before  his  daughter: 
and,  as  the  case  of  Mrs.  Chipman  was  in  some 
measure  his  own,  he  would  naturally  enter  into  her 
feelings  with  much  tenderness  and  sympathy  of 
mind.     The  consequences  of  this  interview  will  no^ 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  305 

be  presented  to  the  reader,  in  the  conversation  which 
took  place  at  Mr.  Lovegood's,  where  Henry  and 
Edward  went  to  report  the  result  of  this  event. 


Edw.  Sir,  Mr.  Henry  Littleworth  and  I  are  come 
to  tell  you  how  Mrs.  Chipman  received  the  letter. 

Loveg.  Well,  and  how  did  the  poor  creature  bear 
it? 

Edw.  Why,  sir,  at  first,  as  you  directed  me,  I 
gave  her  your  letter.  While  she  attempted  to  read  it 
she  wiped  her  eyes  several  times,  admiring  your 
tenderness  to  such  a  wretch,  as  she  always  calls  her- 
self. She  then  said,  By  the  latter  end  of  Mr.  Love- 
good's  letter,  I  find  you  have  another  letter  from 
my  father;  and,  when  I  gave  it  her,  she  trembled 
like  an  aspen  leaf.  I  then  begged  her  to  go  up 
stairs  and  read  it  by  herself.  She  had  not  been  long 
there,  before  we  heard  her  scream  violently;  my 
wife  and  1  ran  up,  and  found  her  in  strong  hyste- 
rics. 

Loveg.  I  was  afraid  the  letter  would  be  too  much 
for  her.  Her  affections  having  been  withdrawn  from 
the  worthless  fellow  who  seduced  her,  since  the  bless- 
ed change,  which,  I  trust,  has  really  taken  place  upon 
her  mind,  it  is  no  wonder,  that  they  are  strongly 
restored  to  their  proper  object:  and  ihe  thoughts  of 
his  death  by  her  misconduct,  I  know  must  be  like  a 
dagger  to  her  heart. — But  how  long  did  she  con- 
tinue in  that  state? 

Edio.  I  believe,  sir,  it  was  full  half  an  hour.  We 
desired  Mr.  Henry  and  his  sister  would  walk  up, 
while  my  wife  went  down  to  bring  something  for  her 
refreshment,  and  when  she  seemed  a  little  recovered, 
Mr.  Henry  went  to  prayer  with  her. 

Loveg.  (To  Henry.)  Well,  and  how  did  her  mind 
seem  after  prayer? 
VOL.  I.— 27 


306  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Hen.  0,  sir,  she  sat  the  picture  of  misery  and 
grief;  calling  herself,  monster,  murderer,  wretch, 
and  the  vilest  sinner  out  of  hell.  Then  I  began  to 
tell  her,  that  she  could  not  be  worse  than  1  was  in 
my  thoughtless  days;  but  there  was  a  precious  word 
of  promise  given  for  me  and  for  her:  "This  is  a  faiths 
ful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  of  whom  I 
am  the  chief."  "No,"shedirectly  cried,"!  am  chief, 
and  I  shall  have  the  murder  of  my  dear  husband  soon 
to  answer  for  before  the  bar  of  God.  0,  how  I  ab- 
hor myself,  how  ashamed  am  I  of  this  most  polluted 
soul,  and,  if  possible,  still  more  polluted  body  before 
God."  Thus  she  went  on  exclaiming  against  her- 
self. 0,  sir,  what  misery  and  mischief  has  sin  brought 
into  the  world,  and  what  a  mercy,  that  God  ever 
stopped  me  in  my  mad  ways! 

Love"-.  Yes,  Mr.  Henry,  none  of  us  can  be  suffi- 
ciently thankful  for  the  power  of  that  divine  grace, 
which  saves  from  a  thousand  evils.  But  could  you 
discover  from  Mrs.  Chipman's  conversation,  what 
were  her  future. designs? 

Ediv.  Sir,  she  could  hold  no  conversation  with  us 
whatever.  1  am  afraid  she  will  lose  her  senses,  or 
her  life. 

Loveg.  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  Edward.  We 
cannot  be  surprised  at  the  strength  of  her  feelings  on 
receiving  such  tidings  respecting  her  poor  husband; 
the  grace  of  God  always  restores  tenderness  to  the 
mind.  But  this,  for  the  present,  makes  it  a  more 
melancholy  event;  as  almost  whatsoever  is  said  to 
her,  can  have  no  other  tendency  than  to  add  to  her 
grief;  and,  how  to  advise  her,  as  to  the  steps  she 
should  take  under  present  circumstances,  is  a  rnost 
difficult  task.  Were  she  to  accept  of  her  father's  in- 
vitation and  return  home,  the  sight  of  her  dying 
husband  might  bo  the  cause  of  her  death  also;  for 
thousands  of  people  have  been  killed  by  grief. 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  307 

Hen.  0,  sir,  when  it  first  pleased  God  to  awaken 
me  to  a  sense  of  my  sins,  nothing  so  affected  me  as 
the  thought,  that  my  vile  conduct  might  have  sent 
my  dear  parents  with  broken  hearts  to  the  grave. 

Edw.  But,  sir,  if  you  could  come  to  our  house, 
and  say  something,  by  way  of  comforting  the  poor 
creature,  we  should  esteem  it  a  great  kindness.  We 
really  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  her,  and  she 
pays  great  attention  to  what  you  say.  Till  the  let- 
ter came,  about  her  husband's  illness,  she  began  now 
and  then  to  look  a  little  cheerful;  she  took  a  deal  of 
notice  of  what  you  said  yesterday  was  se'nnight  in 
your  sermon,  as  how  God  could  overrule  the  wicked 
purposes  of  mankind  to  bring  about  the  eternal  good 
of  themselves  and  others:  though  sin  was  not  the  less 
abominable  on  that  account.  1  daresay,  sir,  you  re- 
member what  you  said  about  Onesimus,  who  was 
permitted  to  rob  and  then  run  away  from  his  master, 
that  he  might  be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
truth.  She  seemed  to  take  a  deal  of  notice  of  that 
observation, 

Loveg.  Well,  Edward,  if  it  be  your  wish,  I  shall 
have  no  objection.  I  have  an  hour  to  spare,  and  will 
go  with  you  directly. 

[Mr.  Lovegood,  Henry,  and  Edward,  walk  to  the 
Golden  Lion.     On  the  road  Edward  observes:] 

Edw.  Sir,  I  believe,  I  must  lay  aside  public-house 
keeping.  My  wife  and  1  think  out  of  our  little  farm, 
(you  know  our  squire  is  very  moderate  in  his  rents,) 
and  by  making  a  little  malt,  we  can  keep  ourselves 
very  well,  especially  since  we  buried  our  last  poor 
little  girl;  we  have  but  three  children  now  left. 

Loveg.  0  no,  Edward,  by  no  means;  for,  as  soon 
as  you  give  over,  some  ope  else  will  be  starting  up, 
especially  as  the  turnpike  road  lies  through  our 
village,  and  then  it  is  probable,  that  nothing  but  riot 
and  drunkenness  will  be  brought  into  our  parish 
and  one  public-house  is  quite  enough  for  this  place. 


308  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

EdiD.  Why,  sir,  did  you  not  hear,  what  a  riot  we 
were  likely  to  have  had  at  our  house,  last  Tuesday 
evening,  from  a  set  of  drovers  that  came  along  this 
way? 

Loveg.  No,  not  I. — 1  never  hear  of  riots  at  your 
house. 

Edw.  Why,  sir,  after  I  had  put  their  beasts  into  the 
field,  they  came  into  the  house,  and  began  cursing 
and  swearing;  and  as  I  thought  it  might  answer  best 
to  speak  to  them  with  as  much  good  temper  as  I 
could,  as  generally  that  goes  farthest  with  such  sort 
of  people,  I  told  them,  that  ours  was  a  very  regular 
house;  and  that  for  the  sake  of  good  order,  I  thought 
it  best,  that  we  should  all  swear  by  turns,  and  that 
it  was  my  turn  to  swear  next;  and  thus  we  should 
all  prove,  one  by  one,  where  was  the  good  of  it,  and 
what  advantage  comes  by  it;  therefore,  for  the  sake 
of  good  manners,  I  begged  they  would  stop  till  after 
they  had  heard  me  swear.  One  of  them  having  cast 
his  eyes  on  what  I  had  painted  in  large  letters  over 
the  mantel-piece,  swear  not  at  all,  directly  said, 
with  a  great  oath,  that  he  should  burst  if  he  was 
kept  from  swearing  at  that  rate.  I  then  told  them, 
I  would  do  any  thing  in  reason  to  oblige  them,  if 
they  would  but  oblige  me;  and  that  made  them  quiet 
for  awhile. 

Loveg.  Well,  if  that  was  the  case,  your  end  was 
answered,  and  who  knows  what  may  be  the  future 
good  effects  of  such  a  testimony  against  their  pro- 
fane conversation. 

Edio.  But,  sir,  it  did  not  end  here;  for,  it  seems, 
they  had  been  la^^ing  wagers  as  they  came  along 
the  road,  and  they  had  engaged  to  spend  it  in  drink 
before  they  went  to  bed:  and  when  I  told  them 
they  could  have  no  more  liquor  in  my  house  than 
what  was  really  good  for  them;  for  I  had  not  suf- 
fered a  person  to  get  drunk  within  my  doors  for 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  309 

above  these  seven  years;  immediately  they  began 
cursing  and  swearing  at  me,  and  abusing  my  d — d 
religion,  as  they  called  it,  in  the  most  outrageous 
manner.  1  directly  told  them,  if  they  did  not  be- 
have quietly  I  should  go  to  the  gentleman^  who  was 
my  landlord  and  a  justice  of  peace,  and  who  would 
allow  none  of  these  doings  in  our  village,  and  that  he 
would  make  them  pay  for  every  oath  they  swore. 
They  then  began  to  be  so  noisy,  that  I  thought  I  ac- 
tually should  be  obliged  to  send  to  the  'squire  for  a 
warrant;  but,  at  last,  after  I  had  promised  them  a 
pint  of  beer  before  supper,  and  two  pints  after  supper, 
as  it  had  been  a  very  hot  day,  provided  they  did  not 
swear  over  it,  they  became  pretty  orderly,  and  one 
of  them  suffered  me  to  talk  to  him  very  seriously; 
and  I  gave  him  some  of  the  religious  tracts  our  'squire 
wished  me  to  put  into  the  hands  of  travellers  who 
come  our  road. 

Loveg.  This  is  no  proof  that  you  should  give  up 
your  public  house;  but  just  the  contrary;  for  had 
they  gone  but  two  miles  farther,  to  Mapleton,  there, 
I  fear,  they  might  have  made  themselves  wicked 
enough;  at  least  they  were  restrained  for  awhile;  and 
now  they  have  heard  something  they  may  remember 
another  day.  Besides,  I  am  told,  that  a  great  many 
decent  sober  travellers  have  lately  found  their  way 
to  your  house,  for  the  sake  of  the  quiet  and  orderly 
accommodations  they  find  there;  and  where  are  the 
people  to  go  to  on  a  Sunday  if  you  shut  up  your 
public  house?  I  am  persuaded  you  are  as  much  in 
the  way  of  duty  in  your  public  house  as  I  am  when 
in  the  pulpit;  and  I  am  sure,  your  excellent  landlord, 
Mr.  Worthy,  is  of  the  same  opinion.  He  will  never 
suffer  you  to  pull  down  your  Golden  Lion,  for  a  few 
rubs  of  this  sort. 

EdiD.  But,  sir,  had  some  of  my  sober  customers 
27* 


310  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

happened  to  have  been  there:  how  I  should  have  been 
ashamed  of  myself ! 

Loveg.  Ashamed  of  yourself — for  what?  I  am  sure, 
they  would  never  have  thought  the  worse  of  you,  or 
religion,  on  that  account;  besides,  I  think  I  can  give 
you  a  remedy  for  this  evil,  at  a  very  small  expense; 
wait  a  few  days,  and  see  if  I  cannot. 


[The  Golden  Lion  is  a  little  snug  clean  place  situ- 
^ed  on  the  brook  from  whence  the  village  takes  its 
name;  it  had  a  nice  old-fashioned  porch  before  the 
door.  Mr.  Worthy  immediately  contrived  a  plan  to 
adorn  the  brook  with  some  weeping  willows,  and  the 
front  of  this  porch  in  a  captivating  tasty  style,  though 
consistent  with  its  original  simplicity,  making  it  still 
more  like  a  neat  summer-house,  by  sending  his  gar- 
dener to  plant  some  honey-suckles  and  flowering 
shrubs  about  the  porch,  and  on  the  little  green  before 
the  door.  On  a  tablet  on  the  front  of  the  porch  thus 
adorned,  the  following  lines  were  soon  afterwards 
painted : 

Let  the  kind  trav'Uer  of  a  friendly  mind 
Step  in,  and  all  he  wants  he  here  shall  find; 
A  grateful  welcome  and  a  wholesome  bed, 
A  peaceful  pillow  for  a  sober  head. 

While  moderation  makes  the  mild  request, 
He  has  whate'er  he  needs  before  his  rest; 
The  hostess  waits  with  an  attentive  hand, 
To  serve  with  cheerfulness  at  his  command. 

'Tis  here  the  constant  law  of  kindness  reigns; 
Her  rightful  sceptre  here  she  well  maintains ; 
No  sons  of  midnight  riot  dare  molest 
The  sweet  repose  the  weary  find  in  rest. 

'Tis  here  tranquillity  and  peace  combine, 
To  shed  their  grateful  influence  all  divine; 
Here  Love  has  fix'd  her  constant  fond  abode 
For  all  who  love  themselves,  and  love  their  God. 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  311 

Thus  adorned  by  the  elegant  taste  of  Mr.  Worthy, 
and  the  poetic  genius  of  Mr.  Lovegood,  stands  the 
Golden  Lion  in  the  parish  of  Lower  Brookfield, 
situate  in  a  vale  which  exhibits  the  most  enchanting 
scenery  the  eye  of  man  can  well  behold.  While  it 
beautifully  opens  itself  to  the  south,  it  is  screened 
from  the  northern  blast  by  a  chain  of  rocky  hills,  the 
most  magnificent  and  wild.  Here  the  meandering 
stream,  which  afterwards  runs  through  the  village, 
and  adorns  the  pleasure  grounds  of  Brookfield-hall, 
finds  its  retired  channel  under  a  ridge  of  those  rocks, 
which  in  many  places  project  in  fine  bold  perpendi- 
cular forms,  and  which  being  covered  with  an  abun- 
dance of  stately  trees,  the  growth  of  ages,  projecting 
forward  in  different  points  of  view,  exhibit  to  your 
imagination  the  ruins  of  such  ancient  castles,  as  might, 
in  former  ages,  have  filled  the  world  with  astonish- 
ment and  surprise. 

This  part  of  the  scenery  has  been  in  possession  of 
the  family  of  the  Worthys  for  many  generations. 
Other  parts  of  the  same  landscape  belonging  to  Lord 
Rakijih  are  not  less  enchanting,  if  less  romantic;  all 
of  them  fine  rising  hills,  beautifully  broken  and  richly 
picturesque.  Nearly  on  the  summit  of  one  of  them 
stands  the  village  of  Upper  Brookfield,  while  a  vari- 
ety of  cottages  are  found  to  rest  on  difl'erent  broken 
brows,  adding  a  pleasing  vivacity  to  the  neighbour- 
hood at  large. 

It  is,  however,  to  be  lamented,  that  this  part  of  the 
scenery  has,  in  a  measure,  been  deprived  of  a  share 
of  its  original  beauties:  through  the  extravagance  of 
Lord  Rakish,  created  by  a  life  of  dissipation,  many  a 
fine  wide-spreading  oak  has  been  felled  to  the  ground. 
Not  so  the  estates  belonging  to  the  family  of  the 
Worthys.  Throughout  several  generations,  every 
tree  is  sure  to  stand,  but  as  it  is  cut  down  for  neces- 
sary repairs,  and  its  successors  are  provided  for  gene- 


312 


VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 


rations  yet  to  come.  Durable  as  the  everlasting  hills 
and  mountains  which  surround  them,  may  the  family 
long  survive,  while  it  is  of  little  consequence  what 
becomes  of  the  family  of  such  worthless  lords,  whose 
boasted  ancestors  were,  perhaps,  only  the  sycophants 
of  some  corrupted  court,  and  whose  conduct  is  of  no 
better  tendency  than  to  spread  contagion  in  the  vici- 
nage wherein  they  live. 

Which  of  my  readers,  whoever  he  may  be,  after 
such  a  description  of  the  situation  of  the  Golden  Lion, 
and  its  honest  occupier,  will  not  thank  me  whenever 
he  may  travel  that  road,  if  I  recommend  him  there 
to  seek  his  necessary  accommodations?  There  he 
will  find  a  host  truly  pious;  a  hostess  neatly  indus- 
trious and  attentive;  a  clean-scoured  table,  not  co- 
vered with  damask  linen,  but  with  a  cloth  delicately 
white;  a  plain,  but  plentiful  repast,  neatly  served  up; 
and  every  other  accommodation  at  a  reasonable  rate, 
that  any  man  of  tranquillity  and  moderation,  and 
blessed  with  the  fear  of  God,  would  wish  to  enjoy. 
By  this  design  at  the  entrance  of  the  porch,  no  such 
unwelcome  visitants,  as  before  mentioned,  now  pre- 
sume to  interrupt  the  guests,  nor  is  any  thing  farther 
heard  after  the  door  is  closed  at  the  evening  of  the 
day,  but  the  still  voice  of  reading  the  Bible  and  Fa- 
mily Prayer  in  a  back  parlour;  while  none  of  the 
customers  are  prohibited  from  enjoying  the  same 
privilege  with  the  family,  (if  they  request  it,)  which 
they  enjoy  among  themselves.  But  the  reader's  at- 
tention shall  no  longer  be  interrupted  from  Mrs. 
Chipman's  narrative.  The  conversation,  started  by 
Edward,  was  scarcely  concluded  when  they  reached 
the  Golden  Lion.] 

Edw.  (To  his  wife,  called  Prudence. J  Well,  Pru- 
dence, how  is  Mrs.  Chipman? 

Prud.  I  think,  she  seems  a  little  more  composed, 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  313 

though  she  is  very  low.  (To  Mr.  Love  good.)  Your 
servant,  sir,  she  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you;  she 
often  talks  about  you. 

Loveg.  I  should  be  happy  to  do  her  any  service, 
poor  thing,  but  her  situation  is  so  truly  perplexing, 
that  I  know  not  how  to  deal  with  her;  it  appears  to 
me  as  though  her  life  almost  depended  on  every  word 
that  is  said  to  her.     Is  she  up  stairs  ? 

Prud.  If  you  please,  sir,  Pll  call  her  down,  as  the 
house  is  free  from  company. 

[She  comes  down,  faint,  trembling,  and  very  hys- 
terical] After  awhile,  Mr.  Lovegood  takes  her  by 
the  hand,  and  said,  My  friend,  pray  for  submission 
and  resignation  to  the  will  of  God. 

Chipm.  Of  sir,  how  can  you  call  a  murderer  your 
friend  ? 

Loveg.  When  you  made  that  unhappy  step,  you 
by  no  means  intentionally  designed  to  be  a  murderer. 

Chipm.  But  had  I  thought  at  all,  what  could  I  have 
expected  otherwise?  What  a  wretch  have  I  been  to 
break  the  heart  of  such  a  man;  I  deserve  to  be  hated 
by  all  who  know  me. 

Loveg.  Yes;  1  admit  that  your  thoughtless  mo- 
ments were  the  cause  of  all  your  present  calamities: 
and  then  pride  and  passion,  doubtless,  prevailed,  and 
rendered  you  inconsiderate:  and  no  wonder  that, 
when  given  over  to  such  guides,  that  such  conse- 
quences followed.  But  admitting  the  charge  against 
yourself,  even  murderers  are  not  beyond  the  reach 
of  divine  mercy.  How  justly  might  you  have  been 
given  over  to  insensibility  and  hardness  of  heart;  but 
now  you  are  brought  to  your  recollection,  you  feel 
your  folly. 

Chipm.  Yes,  sir,  and  a  thousand  times  worse  than 
folly.  0,  how  it  cuts  my  heart  to  think  what  my 
dear  husband's  feelings  must  have  been  before  I  could 
have  brought  him  to  such  a  state.     What  would  I 


514  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

give  to  restore  him  from  the  grave,  if  he  should  never 
love  me  any  more!  What  shall  I  do;  how  shall  I 
act?  Dear  sir;  shall  I  go  directly  to  him?  If  it 
were  in  my  power  to  walk  on  foot,  every  step  of  the 
way,  how  gladly  would  1  take  the  journey;  if  each 
step  would  but  bring  me  nearer  to  heal  the  heart  of 
that  worthy  man,  who  is  now  dying  through  my 
most  vile  and  ungrateful  conduct. 

[She  is  again  extremely  affected,  while  all  present 
join  to  mingle  the  tear  of  sympathetic  grief  with  hers; 
then  she  adds:] 

Chipm.  But  what  is  become  of  my  dear  child  ?  I 
hear  nothing  of  him,  that  innocent  miserable  orphan, 
that  has,  perhaps,  by  now  lost  its  affectionate  father, 
while  it  has  been  forsaken  by  its  brutal  mother! 

Loveg.  We  have  heard  nothing  as  it  respects  the 
health  or  situation  of  your  child ;  we  trust  it  still  lives, 
and  that  your  mind  will  be  so  composed,  as  that  you 
may  live  to  bring  it  up  in  "the  nurture  and  admoni- 
tion of  the  Lord." 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  your  text, "  Can  a  woman  forget  her 
sucking  child!" 

[She  again  gives  way  to  excessive  grief  of  mind; 
Mr.  Lovegood  catches  an  opportunity,  during  the 
intervals  of  her  grief,  to  add] 

Loveg.  But  should  you  not  recollect,  how  God  can 
bring  good  out  of  evil;  God,  we  trust,  has  already 
accomplished  in  you  the  good  of  repentance,  which 
was  indirectly  brought  about  through  the  horrid  evil 
of  seduction. 

Chipm.  [After  some  recollection, a  little  more  calm.] 
Well,  well,  if  ever  I  am  saved,  I  shall  be  the  greatest 
monument  of  mercy  upon  earth ;  but,  if  God  forgives 
me,  1  never,  never  can  forgive  myself. 

Loveg.  There  are  as  great  monuments  of  grace  al- 
ready in  glory. — Mary  Magdalene,  out  of  whom  the 
Lord  cast  seven  devils.  Saul,  and  many  others.   Hope 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  3l5 

for  the  best.  I  think,  I  see  a  plan  of  good  before  us, 
in  all  these  calamitiej^,  which  gives  nrie  reason  to  be- 
lieve, that  God  will  get  himself  more  glory  by  your 
misguided  steps,  than  might  have  been  the  case,  had 
these  events  never  taken  place. 
Chipm.  0,  sir,  is  it  possible? 

Loveg.  Was  ever  any  thing  more  glorious  than 
what  God  accomplished,  by  permitting  the  base  con- 
duct of  Herod,  Pontius  Pilate,  and  Judas  Iscariot, 
to  betray,  and  sell,  and  crucify  our  Lord? 

Chipm.  0,  sir,  but  these  were  all  wicked,  and 
were  punished  for  their  wickedness.  And  shall  I 
escape? 

Loveg.  Joseph's  brethren,  you  know,  meant  evil 
against  him;  but  God,  notwithstanding,  overruled  it 
for  good  to  save  much  people  alive:  so  that,  even 
their  evil  ways  were  permitted  for  their  own  future 
good;  and  you  remember,  how  God  brought  about 
matters  for  the  salvation  of  a  thievish  Onesimus. 
Who  knows,  but  your  father  and  your  husband  may 
be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel,  by  the 
same  unhappy  steps,  which,  under  the  management 
of  Divine  Providence,  have  brought  you  to  JBrook- 
field? 

Chipm.  0,  would  to  God  it  might!  I  think  it  is 
that  event  alone,  which  will  prevent  my  dying  of  a 
broken  heart. 

Loveg.  Well,  I  have  a  plan  before  me,  that  may, 
by  the  blessing  of  God,  be  the  cause  of  as  great  joy 
to  you  as  present  circumstances  have  made  you  mi- 
serable. You  know  how  unhappily  ignorant  your 
father  is  of  the  way  of  salvation,  made  known  in  the 
Bible  by  Jesus  Christ.  Poor  man,  he  has  no  other 
confidence,  but  that  of  a  heathen  in  his  own  morality: 
now  I  n)ean  to  send  him  a  very  serious  letter  upon 
this  subject,  and  recommend  him  to  read  some  such 
books  as  may  lead  him  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truthj 


316  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

and,  who  knows  what  a  blessing  it  may  be  to  his 
soul! 

Chipm.  And,  0,  dear  sir,  do,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
write  upon  the  same  subject  to  my  dear  husband: 
what  good  can  he  get  from  the  visits  of  Mr.  Fribble? 
Shall  I  go  myself  and  beg  his  pardon,  again  and 
again,  that  he  may  forgive  me  before  he  dies,  and 
explain  to  him  the  little  that  1  know  about  the  mat- 
ter, since  1  have  seen  my  folly,  and  been  made  to 
abhor  my  ways? 

Loveg.  I  really  think  you  had  better  leave  all  this 
to  others.  A  meeting  of  that  sort,  under  present 
circumstances,  would  be  too  much  for  you  both. 
But  are  there  no  serious  people  about  that  neigh- 
bourhood? 

Chipm.  1  remember  there  were  a  few  people  who 
used  to  meet  in  some  back  room,  in  a  lane  in  our 
town,  and  as  they  were  ridiculed,  just  as  you  are,  I 
have  already  thought  they  might  be  good  people;  but 
then  my  father  was  very  much  prejudiced  against 
them,  and  m}'  husband  was  entirely  guided  by  him 
in  religion.  0,  dear  sir,  what  would  I  give  if  my 
father  and  husband  could  but  meet  with  some  one 
who  knows  about  that  Christianity,  which  has  wound- 
ed my  heart,  under  a  conviction  of  the  evil  nature 
of  sin,  and  has  made  me  to  abhor  myself  for  my  most 
abominable  conduct. 

Hen.  Sir,  I  feel  so  much  interested  on  this  subject, 
though  I  am  so  young  in  grace,  yet  I  could  almost 
venture  to  say,  I  would  ask  my  father,  if  he  could 
spare  me  to  go  with  your  letters  and  the  books.  I 
think  Locksbury  is  not  above  seventy  miles  from 
Mapleion;  I  could  get  there  in  two  days:  and  our 
harvest  will  not  come  on  these  six  weeks. 

Loveg.  Why,  Henry,  could  I  leave  my  charge, 
I  should  be  happy  to  go  with  you;  but  if  you  could 
be  spared,  such  a  visit  might  be  attended  with  most 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  317 

blessed  consequences;  and  if  your  father  has  not 
a  horse  to  spare,  fit  for  the  journey,  I  can  almost 
answer  for  it,  Mr.  Worthy  will  be  very  happy  to 
accommodate  you  with  one,  if  your  lameness  should 
not  prove  an  impediment. 

Hen.  I  thank  God  my  hip  is  much  strengthened 
since  I  have  returned  home.  1  feel  very  little  in- 
convenience when  I  ride.  I  will  go  home  and  con- 
sult my  father,  and  then  I  will  call  on  you  again. 


Soon  after  this  the  conversation  terminated  with 
a  prayer  from  Mr.  Lovegood.  Henry  went  home 
to  consult  with  his  father  about  the  journey.  He 
was,  with  some  difficulty,  persuaded  to  part  with  his 
much  beloved  son,  who  was  now  made  so  dear  to 
him  by  the  uniting  ties  of  the  Gospel,  while  Mr» 
Lovegood  attended  to  his  engagement,  to  write  a 
very  serious  and  appropriate  letter  to  Mr.  Reader; 
and  to  select  a  few  books,  such  as  might  be  the  most 
conducive  to  give  him  a  proper  view  of  the  Gospel 
dispensation;  and  if  the  reader  will  but  wait,  till 
after  Henry's  return,  he  may  probably  hear  of  some 
farther  events  which  were  the  result  of  this  interest- 
ing visit.  This  dialogue,  therefore,  shall  close  by- 
laying  before  the  reader  two  letters;  the  one  from 
Mr.  Lovegood  to  Mr.  Reader,  the  other  from  Mrs. 
Chipman  to  her  dying  husband. 

^^(^  ^'TO  MR.  READER. 

'<  We  all  feel  ourselves  so  deeply  interested  in 
your  family  afflictions  as  to  excite  us  to  show  you 
every  possible  attention  for  the  alleviation  of  your 
distress.  By  the  peculiar  wish  of  your  daughter,  and 
by  the  benevolent  assistance  of  Mr.  Worthy,  a  pur- 
pose messenger  waits  upoa  you  with  this,  and  with 
some  other  tokens  of  our  sympathy  and  respect. 
VOL.  L— 28 


318  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

"  Mr.  Henry  Littleworth,  the  young  man  who 
is  so  kind  as  to  he  our  messenger  on  this  occasion, 
though  once  unhappily  of  a  profane  and  dissolute 
turn,  is  now,  by  the  grace  of  God,  become  remark- 
ably serious  and  devout.  This  makes  him  feel  more 
tenderly  for  your  daughter,  as  her  case,  in  some 
respects,  is  so  similar  to  his  own.  Since  he  has  ex- 
perienced the  converting  power  of  divine  grace  upon 
his  heart,  he  has  considerably  cultivated  a  good 
understanding,  by  reading  and  serious  meditation 
upon  useful  and  profitable  subjects.  To  him  there- 
fore, 1  shall  refer  you,  for  all  you  wish  to  know, 
as  it  respects  your  daughter's  mind;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  that  you  will  find 
him  capable  of  advising  with  you,  as  it  may  respect 
what  future  steps  should  be  taken,  either  upon  the 
death  or  recovery  of  Mr.  Chipman. 

"But,  dear  sir,  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  at 
least,  as  it  relates  to  the  feelings  of  my  own  mind,  I 
wish  to  obviate  those  mistakes,  in  which  you  con- 
ceive so  highly  respecting  any  applause  I  can  take  to 
myself,  or  any  meritorious  claim  1  can  ever  make  be- 
fore the  bar  of  a  just  and  holy  God.  Surely,  sir,  it  is 
beyond  the  power  of  an  angel  to  give  him  more 
obedience  than  is  due  to  his  infinitely  holy  name; 
therefore  even  their  perfect  services  appear  before 
him,  as  having  no  meritorious  claim,  when  all  the 
ability  must  first  be  received  from  him,  ere  any  ser- 
vice they  perform  can  be  deemed  acceptable  in  his 
sight. 

"Were  Gabriel  himself  to  presume  to  boast,  and 
were  the  Lord  to  answer  him,  "Take  that  which  is 
thine,  and  go  thy  way,"  would  he  not  sink  into 
nothing  before  his  God  ?  No  wonder,  therefore,  that 
while  they  are  performing  their  highest  acts  of  obe- 
dience, they  are  described  as  veiling  their  faces, 
and  giving  all  the  glory  to  Him,   who  has   made 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  319 

them  what  they  are,  and  who  still  upholds  them  by 
the  arm  of  his  almighty  power.  If  then  the  proud 
boast  of  merit  be  inconsistent  even  with  Angels 
themselves,  what  should  our  language  be,  when 
sinners  of  our  depraved  race  shall  be  called  to  stand 
in  his  holy  presence,  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to 
behold  iniquity,  but  with  infinite  detestation  and 
eternal  abhorrence? 

"  Not  to  depreciate  that  which  may  be  praise^ 
worthy  in  you,  dear  sir,  or  in  any  one  else,  as  it  re- 
spects our  outward  conduct  between  man  and  man; 
but  surely  as  it  relates  to  the  inward  state  of  our 
minds,  before  a  Being  of  infinite  purit}^  Who  can 
stand  when  he  appeareth?  Never  was  one  whose 
righteous  character  before  man  shone  so  bright  as 
that  of  Job;  but  when  his  eye  saw  God,  or  in  other 
words,  when  the  eye  of  his  mind  saw  into  the  na- 
ture of  the  infinite  purity  of  God,  with  what  solemn 
surprise  does  he  cry,  "Behold,  I  am  vile!"  And 
how  humiliating  was  his  language,  as  it  farther  re- 
spected himself:  "  Therefore  I  abhor  myself,  and 
repent  in  dust  and  ashes."  Not  less  surprised  was 
the  prophet  Isaiah,  when  the  Seraphims'  voices  cried 
to  each  other,  ''  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  is  the  Lord  of 
Hosts!"  Then  said  he,  "  Wo  is  me,  for  1  am  un- 
done." If  the  most  holy  and  exalted  of  the  saints 
of  God  thus  humbled  themselves  in  the  dust  before 
him;  instead  of  our  boasting  of  the  merit  of  our  righ- 
teousness, how  much  more  have  we  cause  to  lie  in 
the  dust  on  account  of  the  demerit  of  our  sinfulness. 
If,  therefore,  you  will  allow  me  to  speak  plainly  the 
feelings  of  my  mind  on  this  subject,  whatever  dif- 
ference subsists  between  me  and  the  vilest  sinner 
upon  earth,  my  language  must  ever  be  like  that  of 
St,  Paul:  "By  the  grace  of  God  I  am  what  I  am:" 
while,  amidst  my  highest  acquirements,  I  feel  my- 
self a  sinner  still;  and  indeed  in  every  attempt  to  serve 


320  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

God,  I  am  sensible  I  fall  short  of  my  duty,  and  of 
his  glory.  And  though  I  may  not  have  been  guilty 
of  the  Publican's  practice,  yet  sure  I  am,  I  need  to 
adopt  the  Publican's  prayer,  "  God  be  merciful  to 
me  a  sinner." 

"Once,  dear  sir,  these  things  were  hid  from  my 
eyes ;  while  I  was  ignorant  of  God  I  was  ignorant 
of  myself.  But,  when  I  began  to  read  my  Bible 
with  attention,  I  soon  discovered,  it  was  God's  own 
account  of  a  very  depraved  and  fallen  race;  and,  that 
the  sentence  of  a  just  and  holy  law  had  pronounced 
eternal  death  againstall  mankind,  as  "all  had  sinned:" 
and,  that  it  was  now  in  vain  for  me  any  longer  to 
make  the  Pharisee's  plea,  "  I  thank  thee,  I  am  not 
as  other  men;"  while  I  was  foolishly  "  trusting  in 
myself,  that  I  was  righteous,  and  despised  others;" 
saying  in  the  pride  of  my  heart,  "Stand  by,  for  I  am 
holier  than  thou.'' 

"  But  what  sinner  can  ever  be  said  to  be  righ- 
teous? Not  more  absurd  is  it  to  say,  the  guilty  are 
innocent.  The  law  has  positively  said,  "  The  soul 
that  sinneth  shall  die,"  that  "the  wages  of  sin  is 
death;"  yea,  and  that  "  if  we  offend  in  one  point,  we 
are  guilty  of  all;"  for  it  matters  not  in  what  point 
we  transgress,  as  the  sentence  goes  forth  by  pro- 
nouncing, "  Cursed  is  every  one  that  continueth  not 
(during  his  whole  life)  in  all  things  written  in  the 
book  of  the  law  to  do  them." 

"  Thus  by  the  knowledge  of  the  purity  and  holi- 
ness of  the  law,  the  proud  notions  of  merit  were 
soon  banished  far  from  my  mind,  and  no  other  hope 
was  left  for  me,  but  the  hope  of  the  Gospel;  salva- 
tion for  our  ruined  race,  from  his  mercy  alone,  who 
came  to  "put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  himself." 
1  am  now  satisfied,  "  that  there  is  no  other  name 
given  among  men  whereby  they  can  be  saved,  but 
the  name  of  Jesus   Christ  our  Saviour."      Thus, 


DIALOGUE  XVII. 


321 


sir,  I  had  been  living  on  the  false  hope  of  a  mere 
heathen,  and  never  knew  it,  till  divine  mercy  con- 
vinced me  of  the  purity  of  God's  law,  and  the  im- 
purity of  my  own  nature.  While  the  name  of  Christ 
had  been  sounded  in  my  ears,  I  had  no  concep- 
tion of  the  need  of  his  salvation  in  my  heart;  it  was 
on  my  own  goodness,  not  on  his  grace,  that  1  fixed 
my  dependence.  But  now  1  feel  and  know.  He  alone 
is  my  peace  and  salvation;  and  that  without  the 
shedding  of  his  blood,  I  never  can  be  redeemed  from 
the  curse  of  the  law:  so  that,  in  point  of  my  accep- 
tance and  justification  before  God,  I  have  no  other 
?lea  left,  but  his  obedience  unto  death  on  my  behalf, 
confess  myself  a  sinner;  and  while  I  abhor  every 
comparative  idea  of  merit  above  others  of  my  fellow 
sinners,  (for  we  have  all  sinned,  and  fallen  short  of 
his  glory)  I  trust  alone  on  his  mercy  for  my  salva- 
tion. 

"I  was  not  less  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  that  holi- 
ness possessed  by  every  true  believer,  who  is  thus 
accepted  in  the  Beloved.  I  mistook  decency  for  de- 
votion, and  morality  before  man  for  spirituality  be- 
fore God.  Never  till  I  knew  the  evil  of  sin  as  a 
transgression  against  God's  good  and  holy  law,  did  I 
desire  to  be  delivered  from  its  inward  dominion  and 
power.  I  now  know  "I  must  be  born  again,"  or  in 
other  words,  "be  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  my  mind:" 
and,  of  this  I  am  persuaded,  the  pardoned  believer 
has  no  inclination  to  live  in  sin,  that  grace  may 
abound;  for,  he  knows,  that  being  justified  by  the  re- 
demption that  is  in  Christ,  he  is  dedicated  unto  God 
thereb}^,  that  he  may  live  to'his  glory.  1  had  not  thus 
dwelt  on  my  own  experience  so  long,  had  1  not  con- 
ceived, that  you  also  have  been  unhappily  misled  from 
the  glorious  hope  of  the  Gospel,  by  the  same  mistake. 
I  have,  therefore,  taken  tlie  liberty  to  transmit  to  you 
a  few  books  upon  the  evangelical,  yet  not  less  prac- 
28* 


322  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tical  truths  of  the  Gospel;  and,  I  am  sure,  most 
thoroughly  consistent  with  the  articles  and  liturgy  of 
that  church,  of  which  I  am  happy  to  confess  myself 
a  minister,  and  of  which  also  I  suppose  yourself  to  be 
a  member. 

"Though  it  grieves  us  all  to  see  your  daughter  so 
excessively  overcome  by  the  dangerous  state  of  Mr. 
Chipman's  health;  it,  notwithstanding,  presents  us 
with  a  most  pleasing  sensation,  as  it  respects  the  ten- 
der and  blessed  state  of  mind,  to  which,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  she  seems  most  graciously  to  be  restored. 

"As  the  most  worthy  and  excellent  young  man, 
the  bearer  of  this,  will  take  an  opportunity  of  con- 
sulting with  you,  on  w^hat  steps  may  be  necessary  to 
be  taken  on  this  unhappy  event,  I  shall  shorten  this 
address  by  subscribing  myself, 

"Your  real  friend  and  servant  for  Christ's  sake, 

"Ben.  Lovegood.'^ 

Brookjield. 


MRS.  chipman's  letter. 

"My  Dearest  Husband, 
"If  you  can  admit  a  wretch,  so  treacherous  and 
vile,  to  address  you  in  such  terms,  will  you  allow  me 
to  implore  your  pardon,  in  the  most  submissive  lan- 
guage? Nothing  but  guilt  and  confusion  fills  my 
heart,  exciting,  at  the  same  time,  tears  of  the  deepest 
contrition  from  my  eyes;  while  I  thus  request  you 
to  forgive  the  worst  of  women,  who  has  been  so 
treacherous  and  cruel  to  the  best  of  husbands;  and, 
who  has  behaved  so  unnaturally,  as  to  forsake  her  own 
offspring  also.  My  most  dear  and  injured  husband, 
I  could  not  have  presumed  on  this  address  if  I  had 
not  been  taught  by  divine  mercy,  to  abhor  myself 
for  my  crimes;  but,  as  I  am  now  seeking  forgiveness 


DIALOGUE  XVII.  323 

of  God,  I  feel  I  never  can  be  happy  until  I  am  fa- 
voured with  your  forgiveness  also.  I  am  told,  with 
inexpressible  grief,  by  a  letter  from  my  father,  that 
you  are  a  dying  man,  through  my  most  hateful  con- 
duct towards  you.  Is  it  possible  for  you  to  believe, 
after  all  that  has  passed,  that  1  speak  the  truth  when 
1  say,  I  now  feel,  since  a  most  merciful  God  has,  I 
trust,  changed  my  vile  heart,  a  love  to  you  stronger 
than  ever  1  felt  before?  And,  I  could  travel  a  thou- 
sand miles  to  heal  your  heart:  the  pleasure  I  should 
take  in  each  painful  step  for  such  a  purpose  1  cannot 
express.  Yet,  consider,  I  beseech  you,  your  once 
dearest  Jemima;  and  recollect  how  happy  we  were 
in  the  chaster  days  of  our  connexion;  while  I  could 
keep  your  accounts,  post  your  books,  and  wait  upon 
you  with  the  most  affectionate  attention.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  execrate  myself  for  having  forsaken 
such  an  office,  and  for  grieving  the  heart  of  such  a  hus- 
band. I  beg  you  not,  however,  to  suppose  I  mean 
hereby  an  excuse  for  my  crimes;  they  cannot  be 
lessened  by  any  excuse  whatever.  Yet,  I  trust, 
having  received  that  grace  which  makes  me  shudder 
at  my  former  conduct,  you  will  remember  what  once 
a  poor  Magdalen  felt,  when  she  washed  our  Saviour's 
feet  with  her  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hairs 
of  her  head.  And,  though  I  scarcely  dare  presume 
to  hope  that  he  will  forgive  a  wretch  that  has  been 
so  vile;  yet,  let  me  humbly  request  you  to  consider, 
what  that  most  aflfectionate  young  man  has  to  say  to 
you,  who  brings  you  this  letter,  and  who  was  not, 
until  a  merciful  God  changed  his  heart,  much  less 
wicked  and  hateful  than  myself  0  then,  let  it  be 
believed,  that  nothing  in  a  way  of  mercy  is  impos- 
sible with  God;  and,  surely,  that  mercy  is  needed 
by  us  all,  when  we  consider  what  sinful  hearts  we 
have  before  him!  who  is  infinitely  holy.  Oh!  how 
then  shall  such  a  wretch  as  I  have  been  appear  be- 


324  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

fore  him !  My  only  hope  is  from  what  Mr.  Love- 
good,  the  excellent  minister  of  the  parish  in  which  I 
now  am,  has  advised  me  to  read,  which  is  still  to  be 
found  in  our  old  Common  Prayer  Books,  in  the  la- 
mentation of  a  sinner: 

Mercy,  good  Lord  !  mercy  I  ask, 

This  is  the  total  sum ; 
For  mercy,  Lord,  is  all  my  suit, 

Lord,  let  thy  mercy  come. 

"  Receive  these  few  lines  from  your  truly  penitent, 
and  as  truly  affectionate, 

"Jemima  Chipman." 

Lower  Brookfield,  near  Mapleton. 

Having  thus  laid  the  two  letters  before  my  readers, 
they  will  naturally  conclude,  that  something  inte- 
resting may  be  the  result  of  Henry's  return;  and  as 
these  events  will  be  detailed  in  the  succeeding  Dia- 
logues, I  hope  they  may  prove  not  less  instructing 
than  any  of  the  former. 


DIALOGUE   XVIIL 


MR.  WORTHY  AND  FAMILY,  MR.  LOVEGOOD, 
AND  MR.  MERRYMAN. 


THE    CHARACTER    AND    EXPERIENCE    OF    THE    CHRISTIAN 
MINISTER  EXEMPLIFIED. 

As  Henry  Littlevvorth,  from  a  variety  of  circum- 
stances, was  detained  some  weeks  at  Locksbury  on 
Mrs.  Chipman's  affairs;  a  detail  of  other  events, 
during  that  interval^  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  the 
reader. 

There  were  a  few  serious  and  godly  clergymen, 
about  the  neighbourhood  of  Brookfield,  who  were  in 
the  habit  of  associating  together  in  rotation,  at  each 
other's  houses,  for  the  purpose  of  mutual  edification 
in  their  sacred  work.  A  meeting  of  this  sort,  was 
held  at  Mr,  Lovegood's,  during  the  time  that  Mrs. 
Chipman's  affairs  were  in  agitation.  At  these  meet- 
ings one  of  the  ministers  always  preached  in  his  turn. 
This  office  now  fell  to  the  lot  of  Mr.  Merry  man;  and 
an  admirable  and  affecting  sermon  he  preached,  in 
some  respects  not  less  suitable  to  his  own  experience 
than  to  that  of  Mrs.  Chipman,  from  the  following 
text:  "And  such  were  some  of  you;  but  ye  are 
washed,  but  ye  are  sanctified,  but  ye  are  justified  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  by  the  Spirit  of  our 
God."  This  sermon  was  not  less  grateful  to  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Lovegood,  than  consolatory  to  the  wounded 
conscience  of  the  unhappy  Mrs.  Chipman.  They  say 
also,  that  the  sermon  was  blessed  to  Mr.  Gauger, 


326  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

the  exciseman  of  the  Parish,  who  being  himself  an 
ignorant  and  giddy  youth,  and  having  heard  that 
Mr.  Merryman  was,  till  of  late,  one  of  his  own  stamp, 
was  struck  with  his  warm  and  affectionate  address 
from  the  above-mentioned  text,  and  that  he  now  lives 
to  God,  as  being  himself  also  "  alive  from  the  dead." 
Mr.  Merryman,  who  was  supposed  to  have  some  se- 
cret inclination  towards  Miss  Worthy, continued  after 
this  meeting,  principally  the  guest  of  Mr.  Worthy, 
for  some  days.  A  Sabbath  intervening,  an  exchange 
of  labour  was  mutually  agreed  upon  between  Mr. 
Lovegood  and  Mr.  Merryman,  while  such  a  friendly 
and  Christian  intercourse  proved  of  equal  advantage 
to  botli  their  congregations.  Mr.  Worthy  found  him- 
self very  happy  with  such  a  guest  in  his  house,  as  his 
domestic  chaplain;  and  if  in  deep  thought  and  con- 
templative religion,  he  was  inferior  to  Mr,  Love- 
good,  yet  he  was  possessed  of  a  lively  zeal,  which 
rendered  him  a  very  useful  Minister  to  many  of  his 
neighbours,  and  a  most  pleasant  companion  to  all 
who  knew  him. 

Under  a  sanctified  use  of  his  natural  vivacity,  and 
constitutional  courage,  he  was  ever  ready  to  impress 
on  others  the  same  blessed  truths,  by  the  knowledge 
of  which,  a  change  so  glorious  had  been  accom- 
plished on  his  own  mind.  Thus,  while  at  Mr.  Wor 
thy's,  he  would  go  round  his  pleasure  grounds,  and 
talk  to  all  his  labourers:  if  he  stepped  into  the  stable- 
yard,  or  into  any  of  the  neighbouring  cottages,  he 
would  have  some  instructive  hints  to  drop,  or  some 
religious  tracts  to  distribute,  that  he  might  leave  a 
savour  of  the  Gospel  wherever  he  went;  and  this  he 
did  in  such  a  cheerful  and  engaging  style,  as  fre- 
quently rendered  him  very  successful  in  his  attempts. 

In  the  days  of  his  ignorance  he  was  light,  frothy, 
and  vain;  but  as  soon  as  he  was  made  a  partaker  of  - 
the  grace  of  God,  though  he  retained  all   that  be- 


DIALOGUE  XVilf.  327 

longed  to  his  natural  disposition,  yet  he  had  cheer- 
fulness without  levity,  and  became  not  less  profita- 
ble, than  lovely  and  pleasant  in  his  deportment.  It 
is,  however,  a  very  supposable  event,  that  persons  of 
such  natural  vivacity  should  fall  into  some  innocent 
mistakes;  and  an  instance  of  this  kind  was  exhibited 
by  Mr.  Merry  man,  during  this  visit. 

One  morning  he  called  at  Thomas  Newman's, 
with  whose  compan}^  and  conduct  he  was  much  de- 
lighted: while  there,  old  Susan  Dowdy,  an  honest 
shoemaker's  wife,  called  in  with  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
Betty,  and  with  others  belonging  to  the  children; 
which  had  been  carefully  cobbled.  Thomas  being 
remarkably  laborious,  could  not  live  without  his 
rest;  and  being  as  remarkably  honest,  he  could  not 
rest  if  he  was  in  debt:  while  he  was  therefore  pre- 
paring to  pay  the  demand,  Mr.  Merry  man  very  af- 
fectionately discharged  it  for  him.  Upon  the  de- 
parture of  old  Dowdy,  Mr.  Merryman  having  dis- 
covered that  she  knew  something  of  the  blessed  re- 
alities of  the  Gospel,  mentioned  to  Thomas,  that  his 
next  visit  should  be  to  see  her  and  her  husband. 
"Ah!''  said  Thomas,  "I  believe  she  is  a  precious 
old  dame;  but  it  was  Dowdy's  money  made  the 
match."  Betty  adjoins,  "  My  dear,  that  is  nothing 
to  us;  all  have  a  right  to  settle  those  matters  as  they 
like  best:"  and  Mr.  Merryman  being  frequently  a 
little  absent,  dropped  all  farther  investigation  of  the 
subject. 

On  the  next  day  the  promised  visit  took  place. 
As  soon  as  Mr.  Merryman  entered  the  house,  he 
saw  an  active  young  man  most  diligently  occupied 
at  his  stall;  a  young  woman  as  industriously  en- 
gaged in  the  household  affairs;  and  the  notable  old 
woman  at  her  spinning-wheel,  with  the  spectacles 
over  her  nose,  pulling  and  tugging  awa}^  as  fast  and 
as  hard  as  she  could;  and  her  husband's  grandfather, 


5i38  VILLAGE  DIALOGtTES. 

sitting  in  the  chimney  corner,  quite  decrepit  with 
age.  Alas  for  Mr.  Merrynian!  he  first  began  con- 
versing with  the  husband's grandfather,as  the  husband 
of  old  Dowdy;  next  with  the  husband  as  her  son,  and 
then  with  the  other  young  woman  as  the  young  man's 
wife,  though  she  proved  to  be  Dowdy's  daughter  by 
a  former  marriage:  still  supposing  himself  perfectly 
correct.  The  family  kept  silen-ce,  not  being  willing 
to  expose  themselves:  and  the  prayer  with  which  he 
concluded  his  visit,  was  a  distinct  echo  of  all  these 
Unfortunate  mistakes. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  at  Mr.  Worthy's,  he 
gave  th6  history  of  his  visits:  the  family  knovving  the 
preposterous  match  which  had  taken  place  between 
old  Dowdy,  who  had  an  annuity  of  twelve  pounds 
annually,  and  her  young  husband;  joined  in  a  gene- 
ral laugh  at  the  expense  of  Mr.  Merryman's  blunder, 
—a  blunder  not  to  be  corrected  by  any  apology  what- 
ever. However,  all  agreed,  that  as  good  men  do 
good,  even  by  their  innocent  mistakes,  it  might 
answer  as  an  excellent  reproof,  to  the  parties  con- 
cerned; as  all  such  preposterous  matches,  are  very 
contrary  to  that  decency  and  propriety  of  conduct  we 
should  be  careful  to  maintain  in  our  social  and  rela- 
tive connexions  through  life;  especially  if  we  pro- 
fess to  be  under  the  regulation  of  the  pure  and  holy 
word  of  God. 

However,  it  will  at  once  be  admitted,  that  such 
blunders  were  no  blemishes  in  the  character  of  one, 
whose  natural  simplicity  and  undisguised  integrity, 
and  whose  uncommon  tenderness  and  humanity, 
Were  of  late  become  so  very  conspicuous.  Still, 
whatever  Mr.  Merryman  did,  it  was  all  done  in  his 
own  way.  A  specimen  of  this  was  exhibited  during 
his  present  visit  to  Mr.  Worthy. 

On  the  Thursday  after  the  Sabbath,  he  went  on  a 
Jittle  business  to  Mapleton  Market     A  bustle  was 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  329 

created  by  the  anxiety  of  a  cow,  in  attending  upon 
her  calf,  while  driven  about  the  market;  and  in  the 
JDUstle,  a  board  on  which  an  old  woman  had  placed 
her  oranges,  apples,  and  gingerbread,  &c.  was  upset: 
a  rabble  of  children  attempted  to  avail  themselves  of 
this  misfortune,  and  began  a  scramble  for  her  goods. 
This  lovely  Mr.  Merryman  humanely  considered  that 
her  little  all  was  then  at  stake,  and  that  if  she  was  per- 
mitted to  be  robbed  of  her  slender  stock  in  trade, 
the  calamity  would  be  deeply  felt.  Immediately  he 
snatched  an  oaken  stick  out  of  the  hands  of  a  gaping 
peasant  who  stood  by:  drove  away  the  unruly  mob, 
and  theu  gave  his  helping  hand  to  collect  the  ^oor 
woman's  scattered  commodities,  and  to  replace  them 
on  the  board.  He  next  gave  the  clown  a  sixpence, 
for  the  use  of  his  cudgel,  who  doffed  his  hat  and 
thanked  his  honour  for  his  kindness;  next  he  gave 
half  a  crown  to  the  poor  old  woman,  as  much  of  her 
barley-sugar  was  so  broken  as  to  be  unfit  for  sale. 
She  then  begged  leave  to  reward  Mr.  Merryman's 
kindness  with  one  of  her  best  oranges,  which  he  ac- 
cepted; rewarding  her  with  another  shilling  for  her 
gratitude,  and  then  departed:  she  sending  after  him 
a  thousand  blessings  for  the  kind  protection  she  had 
received  in  the  hour  of  her  distress.  Her  next  in- 
quiry was,  who  the  young  gentleman  could  be  who 
treated  her  with  such  kindness,  and  when  she  was 
told  that  it  was  Mr.  Merryman,  the  rector  of  San- 
dover,  she  remarked  that  she  was  sure  he  must  be  a 
good  Christian-hearted  gentleman;  that  she  had  heard 
many  people  say,  that  though  he  was  a  sad  wicked 
blade  once,  yet  of  late  he  had  been  wonderfully  re- 
formed ;  and  that  since  then,  he  had  become  a  brave 
man  in  the  pulpit;  and  vowed  she  would  strive  hard 
but  that  she  would  go  and  hear  him.  And  w^ho 
knows,  the  old  woman's  heart  having  been  softened 
VOL.  I.— 29 


S30  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

by  this  kind  event,  but  that  when  she  was  able  to 
put  her  resolution  into  effect,  the  word  of  life  she 
heard  nriight  have  become  "  the  power  of  God  to  the 
eternal  salvation  of  her  soul?" 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  judge  by  another  instance 
of  Mr.  Merryman's  way  of  doing  good,  what  was 
the  real  style  and  spirit  of  his  character. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  an  occasional  visit 
to  Mr.  Meek;  and  was,  as  we  may  naturally  suppose, 
registered  among  the  list  of  his  contributors,  that 
the  good  man  might  not  suffer  a.  state  next  to  starva- 
tion, from  the  cruelty  and  meanness  of  the  redoubta- 
ble Rector  Fillpot. 

On  Mr.  Merryman's  return  from  this  visit,  when 
he  was  within  three  miles  of  Sandover,  he  observed 
a  poor  disbanded  soldier,  who  could  scarcely  totter 
along  the  road,  sustaining  the  burden  of  a  heavy 
knapsack,  although  in  a  deep  decline,  and  travelling 
home  for  parochial  relief.  The  few  shillings  which 
were  given  him  upon  his  discharge  were  now  ex- 
hausted :  and  the  weather  being  warm,  he  could  afford 
himself  no  better  beverage  than  a  draught  of  water 
from  a  ditch  on  the  road-side.  While  he  made  this 
attempt  he  fell  down,  and  had  not  power  to  arise.  Mr. 
Merryman  at  first  supposed  he  might  be  intoxicated, 
as  he  observed  many  passing  by  without  taking  the 
least  notice  of  him.  However,  he  thought  he  would 
ride  up  to  him,  and  inquire  into  the  real  state  of  the 
case;  and  as  soon  as  he  discovered  himto  be  the  ob- 
ject of  such  commiseration,  his  heart  began  to  melt: 
immediately,  wiping  the  sympathetic  tear  which  was 
preparing  to  start  from  his  eye,  he  placed  him  upon 
his  own  beast,  and  led  him  to  Sandover,  with  the 
greatest  attention  and  care. 

If  ever  humanity  rode  triumphant,  it  was  on  this 
occasion;  when  a  youth  who,  till  of  late  had  been  so 
dissipated  and  careless,  having  obtained  mercy  him- 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  331 

self,  began  to  exemplify  it  in  such  kind  abundance 
to  others.  Thus,  as  Mr.  Merryman's  heart  was  teem- 
ing with  compassion,  all  the  time  the  poor  soldier 
was  beholding,  with  astonishment  and  surprise,  the 
tenderness  and  love  of  his  most  kind  conductor; 
while  so  many  others  could  pass  by,  without  showing 
even  the  most  distant  inclination  to  give  him  the 
least  relief. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  at  Sandover,  Mr.  Merry- 
man  provided  the  poor  man  a  lodging  in  a  decent 
public-house,  left  him  half  a  crown  for  his  present 
necessities,  and  promised  on  the  next  day  to  repeat 
his  visit.  It  was  Mr.  Merryman's  intention  to  have 
sent  the  poor  soldier  home  to  his  own  connexions, 
in  a  style  more  consistent  with  humanity;  but  this 
was  soon  found  to  be  entirely  impracticable:  the 
progress  of  his  disease  becoming  very  rapid.  How- 
ever, he  lived  a  sufficient  length  of  time,  to  give  good 
evidence,  that  he  was  brought  to  deep  repentance 
under  a  sense  of  the  evil  of  sin,  his  former  life  having 
been  dissolute;  and  he  died  with  an  humble  confi- 
dence in  "  the  grace  and  mercy  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  unto  eternal  life;"  which  afterwards  he  im- 
proved in  an  admirable  manner  from  the  pulpit,  it  is 
hoped  to  the  good  of  many  souls. 

This  lovely  instance  however  of  humanity  exhi- 
bited by  Mr.  Merryman,  in  having  thus  turned  foot- 
man to  the  poor  soldier,  made  a  considerable  talk; 
and  bore  such  an  odd  appearance,  especially  in  the 
eyes  of  the  prudish  and  the  formal,  though  so  near  a 
resemblance  of  what  our  Lord  applauded  in  the  mer- 
ciful Samaritan,  that  it  naturally  subjected  him  to 
some  ridicule  and  contempt.  Mr.  Spiteful  said,  he 
always  thought  him  a  low,  mean  fellow;  and  that  he 
was  much  fitter  to  be  the  helper  of  a  groom  in  a  sta- 
ble-yard, than  to  mount  the  pulpit.  And  it  seems 
Mr.  Archdeacon  Smoothtongue's  objection  w?is,  that 


332  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

it  was  letting  down  the  dignity  of  the  clerical  cha- 
racter; and  that  it  was  all  affectation,  and  a  sort  of 
Quixote  righteousness,  that  all  the  orderly  clergy 
should  be  ashamed  of;  though,  it  is  to  be  feared,  the 
Archdeacon  himself  had  no  better  righteousness  than 
that  of  priestly  pomp,  while  Mr.  Merryman's  friends 
and  neighbours  well  knew  the  integrity  of  his  heart. 
All  he  did,  in  his  free  and  easy  manner,  appeared 
lovely  in  their  sight;  especially  when  they  consi- 
dered the  principle  of  divine  grace  whereby  he  was 
thus  constrained  to  act. 

After  the  above  observations  and  anecdotes,! should 
suppose  the  reader  might  wish  to  know  still  more  of 
Mr.  Merry  man,  and  how  it  was  that  so  blessed  a  change 
had  been  wrought  upon  his  mind.  The  following 
Dialogue  shall  therefore  give  the  reader  the  informa- 
tion he  wishes  to  receive. 

The  decorations  designed  for  the  Golden  Lion 
have  already  been  noticed:  and  these  having  been 
speedily  accomplished,  as  the  spring  was  now  ad- 
vancing, Mr.  Worthy  and  family,  Mr.  Lovegood  and 
Mr.  Merryman,  one  week-day  evening  walked  thi- 
ther to  examine  their  effects;  and  in  order  to  give  pro- 
per encouragement  to  the  worthy  publican,  directed 
that  tea  should  be  brought  out,  the  weather  being  then 
remarkably  fine  and  serene,  under  a  large  spreading 
pear-tree.  While  Mr.  Worthy's  game-keeper  was 
directed  to  bring  a  casting-net,  that  they  might  take 
some  trout  out  of  the  meandering  brook  from  whence 
the  village  is  named,  for  the  use  of  the  family,  and 
as  a  present  for  Mr.  Lovegood;  during  this  innocent 
amusement,  properly  so  called,  the  following  conver- 
sation took  place. 


Wor.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  what  Mr.  Spiteful 
has  reported  respecting  Mrs.  Chipman's  affairs. 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  333 

Loveg.  Mr.  Considerate  told  me  some  of  his  charges, 
that  our  designs  towards  her  were  not  less  criminal 
than  those  of  Sir  Charles  Dash. 

Mer.  Well,  I  should  never  have  thought  you  would 
have  been  charged  with  such  sort  of  crimes. 

Loveg.  It  is  of  very  little  consequence  what  he 
says,  his  ravings  are  too  bad  to  hurt  any  one  but 
himself,  as  nobody  can  believe  them. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Nor  need  he  have  any  farther  chastise- 
ment for  his  wicked  spirit,  than  what  he  has  from 
his  own  disposition.  When  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
coming  into  our  house,  I  used  to  dread  his  visits,  for 
he  was  sure  to  entertain  us  with  every  scandalous 
tale  he  could  pick  up;  he  would  be  telling  of  every 
one's  faults  but  his  own.  But  directly  after  we  were 
favoured  with  your  visits,  we  were  soon  released  from 
his. 

Mer.  I  remember,  a  very  intruding  chap  in  our 
neighbourhood  used  to  come  and  visit  my  father  of» 
tener  than  he  liked,  and  he  discovered  that  he  had  a 
peculiar  aversion  to  the  smell  of  toasted  cheese:  in 
order,  therefore,  to  get  rid  of  his  impertinent  visits, 
the  cheese-toaster  was  sure  to  be  set  at  work. 

Wor.  There  was  no  need  of  a  cheese-toaster  when 
you  were  with  us;  he  would  be  off  like  a  pistol. 

Miss  Wor.  What  a  blessing  to  be  delivered  from 
such  a  disposition!  May  it  not  be  said  that  what  fits 
for  hell,  in  a  measure  is  hell? 

Loveg.  Indeed  it  is;  and  if  we  expect  any  other 
heaven,  than  what  is  found  in  love,  we  know  nothing 
of  heaven.  How  wonderfully  God  suits  our  punish- 
ment to  our  crimes !  I  suppose  no  people  are  so 
tortured  as  those  who  are  possessed  of  such  satanic 
minds. 

Mr.  Wor. — I  was  delighted  to  hear  you  urge  so 
strongly  the  necessity  of  these  tempers.  "Be  kindly 
affectioned  one  to  another,  in  honour  preferring  one 
29* 


334  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

another."     I  am  surprised  that  any  should  suppose 
themselves  to  be  Christians  without  them. 

Mer.  Before  1  knew  any  thing  of  the  power  of 
divine  grace,  there  were  seasons  in  which  my  hasty 
tempers  would  get  the  upper  hand  of  me.     But — 

Miss  Wor.  [interrupts]  I  don't  like  to  hear  you 
charge  yourself  on  that  score;  if  you  were  once  dis- 
sipated and  wild,  I  never  heard  that  your  tempers 
were  bad. 

J\Ier.  I  am  ashamed  when  I  recollect,  for  near  two 
years  after  I  was  ordained,  what  a  disgrace  I  was  to 
my  profession.  I  do  not  know  that  my  tempers  led 
me  to  be  spiteful,  malicious,  and  sulky,  though  at 
times  I  was  hasty.  I  was  entirely  captivated  .  by 
other  evils:  a  more  thoughtless  dissipated  creature, 
never  lived  upon  the  earth. 

Wor.  Why  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Merryman,  you  never 
were  in  the  way  of  good,  till  you  heard  Mr.  Love- 
good  at  the  visitation. 

Mer,  Indeed,  sir,  from  my  childhood,  1  never  had 
any  thing  placed  before  me,  but  what  was  calculated 
to  feed  the  corrupt  propensities  of  my  heart.  My 
poor  father  had  but  a  small  fortune,  with  a  large  fa- 
mily: and  though  he  was  in  the  law  line,  he  did  not 
get  much  by  his  profession;  for  there  were  too  many 
lawyers  in  our  town:  and  they  were  in  general 
such  greedy  sharks,  that  they  stuck  at  nothing;  so 
that  people  thought  it  necessary  to  submit  to  any 
thing,  sooner  than  employ  a  lawyer. 

Wor.  I  am  afraid  then  you  had  but  a  bad  example 
at  home. 

Mer.  I  cannot  recollect  that  there  was  much  out- 
ward immorality  practised  in  our  house,  excepting 
that  my  father  was  much  given  to  swearing;  and  he 
never  went  to  Church,  and  my  mother  very  seldom. 

Loveg.  How  then  did  your  father  spend  his  time 
on  a  Sunday? 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  335 

J\ler.  Mostly  in  his  office,  and  in  his  business.  He 
did  all  in  his  power  to  avoid  the  expense  and  trouble 
of  keeping  a  clerk. 

Loveg.  Then  there  was  no  outward  sign  or  cere- 
mony kept  up  in  your  family,  from  which  you  might 
gather  the  existence  of  a  God? 

J[Ier.  It  grieves  me  to  say,  I  w^as  bred  up  in  perfect 
ignorance.  We  had  not  even  with  us  the  decent  form 
of  asking  a  blessing  over  our  meals. 

Wor.  Then  how  came  your  parents  to  think  of 
breeding  you  up  to  the  Church,  as  it  is  called? 

Mer.  0  sir!  though  it  was  my  father's  design  to 
have  educated  me  in  his  own  profession,  yet  from 
my  infancy  I  never  could  fix  on  any  thing.  And  the 
dry  study  of  the  law  was  so  contrary  to  my  natural 
inclinations,  that  my  father  could  never  get  me  to 
submit  to  it  at  any  rate.  While  1  was  fagging  at  the 
office,  I  would  make  any  excuse  to  go  and  shoot  the 
sparrows  oflf  the  peas  and  fruit  in  the  garden.  In  the 
summer  1  would  run  away  and  show  all  possible  tricks 
and  fancies  as  an  expert  swimmer  and  diver;  and  in 
the  winter,  during  a  hard  frosty  he  could  never  keep 
me  off  the  ice;  while  I  was  as  proud  and  vain  of  my 
ability  as  a  skater,  as  I  was  gratified  and  pleased  with 
the  admiration  of  the  spectators. 

Wor.  But  it  must  be  acknowledged,  these  are 
among  the  more  innocent  of  the  diversions  of  youth; 
though  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  correct  young  minds 
in  the  excess  of  them;  and  when  the  inclinations 
are  captivated  by  them,  no  wonder  if  such  should  be 
given  over  to  an  idle  and  dissipated  frame  of  mind, 
all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

Mer.  I  don't  know  tiiat  I  first  pursued  these  plea- 
sures with  what  may  be  called  an  immoral  design: 
but  from  the  unguarded  levity  of  my  mind,  I  soon 
found  that  this  disposition  grew  up  with  me;  and  that 
I  was  entirely  captivated  and  overcome  by  them:  so 


336  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

that  after  I  was  ordained,  I  am  ashamed  to  think,  how 
much  more  I  was  wedded  to  my  sports,  than  to  the 
Church.  And  though  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  put 
on  a  little  decency,  in  not  running  after  them  quite 
so  eagerly  on  a  Sunday  as  on  a  week-day;  yet  not- 
withstanding the  day,  if  I  heard  of  a  hare,  or  a  covey 
of  partridges  being  near  my  house,  I  was  sure  to  be 
after  them.  And  as  for  skating,  I  was  no  sooner  out 
of  the  church,  than  I  was  on  the  ice.  And  I  remem- 
ber one  Sunday,  while  I  was  skating,  an  old  gentle- 
man, who  was  a  justice  of  peace,  who  is  since  dead, 
sent  a  constable  after  me,  begging  that  I  would  not 
break  the  Sabbath,  but  set  a  better  example  to  my 
parishioners.  As  for  other  idle  amusements,  such  as 
cricket  matches,  hunting  and  coursing,  1  was  at  all 
times  a  ringleader  in  these  sports.  And  after  I  had 
done  with  my  out-of-door  diversions,  the  rest  of  my 
time  was  sure  to  be  spent  at  a  playhouse,  or  in  a  ball 
or  billiard  room,  or  at  a  card  table.  Even  such  a  low, 
paltry  amusement  as  a  puppet-show,  a  country  wake 
or  revel,  would  captivate  my  attention,  and  draw  me 
aside.  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  myself,  to  think  how 
giddy  and  foolish  I  have  been.  In  short,  I  was  cap- 
tivated by  every  vain  amusement  but  those  of  cock- 
fighting,  and  bull-baiting:  these  abominable  exhibi- 
tions of  cruelty,  even  at  that  period,  were  very  dis- 
gusting to  me. 

Wor.  But  did  it  not  strike  you  that  hunting,  and 
especially  horse-racing,  were  but  very  little  less  cruel 
than  bull-baiting  or  cock-lighting? 

Mer.  Yes,  thoughts  of  that  sort  would  at  times 
occur;  but  it  was  in  my  heart  to  "run  with  the  mul- 
titude to  do  evil:"  and  1  have  since  experienced, 
that  we  know  nothing  of  the  real  tenderness  which 
possesses  the  Christian,  till  the  living  power  of  Chris- 
tianity has  been  communicated  to  our  hearts. 

Loveg,  Then  you  must  have  been  sadly  out  of  your 
element  when  you  got  into  orders. 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  337 

Mer.  Indeed  I  was,  excepting  when  I  turned  sol- 
dier; and  got  a  captain's  commission  during  the  war. 
And  when  the  salutary  advice  of  the  Bishops  came 
out  against  us,  to  support  by  our  conduct  and  advice 
our  excellent  civil  constitution,  but  not  to  turn  our 
black  coats  into  red  ones,  I  confess  I  very  much  dis- 
liked it.  For  nothing  but  worldly  motives  was  I  sent 
into  the  Church,  and  while  I  hated  my  black  coat,  I 
hated  equally  my  contemptible  inconsistency  all  the 
time  I  wore  a  red  one. 

Wor.  Alas!  how  much  it  is  to  be  lamented,  that 
matters  of  such  infinite  importance  should  be  given 
over  into  such  hands  J  In  this  instance,  what  man  did 
as  evil,  God  has  overruled  for  good.  But  you  have 
not  yet  told  us,  while  you  were  in  such  a  thoughtless 
state,  how  you  came  to  think  of  the  Church. 

Mer.  Indeed*  sir,  that  never  was  a  thought  of  mine. 
But  when  my  father  and  uncle,  who  had  the  family 
estate,  were  together,  he  used  to  swear  (though  I  never 
liked  his  reprobate  language)  that  I  was  so  thought- 
less and  inattentive,  that  I  should  never  get  my  bread 
by  law,  physic,  or  trade;  and  that  I  should  be  fit /or 
nothing  hut  a  parson.  My  uncle  therefore  promised 
him,  that  if  he  would  send  me  to  the  University,  as 
he  had  two  livings  belonging  to  his  estates,  he  would 
give  me  one  of  them,  provided  none  of  his  own  chil- 
dren chose  to  take  orders.  And  as  all  my  cousins 
were  much  fonder  of  the  sea  and  army  than  of  the 
Church,  1  was  obliged  to  submit  to  the  penalty  of 
being  turned  into  a  parson,  for  the  sake  of  a  living. 
And  when  the  living  of  Sandover  became  vacant,  my 
uncle  gave  it  to  old  Mr.  Mumble,  who  was  between 
seventy  and  eighty  years  of  age,  and  in  bad  health, 
on  condition  that  I  should  be  his  curate;  and  I  had 
not  been  his  curate  above  nine  months  before  he 
died,  and  then  my  uncle  presented  me  with  the 
living. 

Mrs.  Wor.  I  thought  it  was  common  to  put  mi- 


338  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

nisters  into  possession  of  livings,  on  condition  of  a 
resignation. 

Mer.  Yes,  but  my  father,  as  a  lawyer,  knew  that 
no  law  whatever  could  compel  any  minister  to  resign 
his  living,  if  he  chose  to  keep  it;  so  he  supposed  that 
was  the  safer  way. 

Wor.  What  terrible  merchandise  is  made  of  the 
souls  of  men  by  such  a  traffic;  and  how  ruinous  is  it 
in  its  consequences  to  real  religion  in  the  Church! 

Mer.  I  am  sure  this  had  nearly  proved  my  ruin; 
for  after  this  matter  was  determined  upon,  I  was  to 
be  packed  off  to  a  public  school,  where  every  thing 
like  religion  was  as  much  out  of  the  question,  as  it 
well  could  be,  excepting  that  we  were  all  compelled 
to  go  to  church  on  a  Sunday. 

Loveg.  When  I  received  the  first  rudiments  of  my 
education  at  the  free  grammar  school  at  Beachly,  we 
had  never  the  least  intimation  given  us,  even  in  a 
formal  way,  about  religion;  but  in  my  time,  I  found 
it  much  worse  at  the  University,  than  at  Beachly. 

Mer.  I  am  sure  the  state  of  too  many  of  the  clergy 
can  never  be  wondered  at,  when  we  consider  the 
method  of  their  education  for  the  ministry; — though 
in  those  days,  I  was  so  loose  and  wild,  that  I  thought 
nothing  about  the  matter. 

fVor.  Why  1  thought  our  Universities  were  in  ge- 
neral repute;  and  that  all  who  applied  might  avail 
themselves  of  an  excellent  education ;  at  least  I  found 
it  so  when  I  was  there. 

Loveg.  Sir,  your  remark  is  perfectly  just;  but  I  am 
sorry  to  add,  at  least  as  it  was  in  my  days,  leaving  re- 
ligion out  of  the  question.  You  are  frowned  upon  if 
you  are  over  righteous,  or  over  wicked;  but  as  to  real 
spiritual  religion,  though  I  confess  I  am  but  a  poor 
judge  how  matters  then  stood,  yet  I  fear  it  is  very 
little  thought  of.  However,  I  remember  that  there 
were  some  reproachful  sneers  circulated  against  a  few. 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  339 

that  since  then  I  have  heard  were  really  serious;  but 
they  were  oblig;ed  to  keep  themselves  very  close, 
"for  fear  of  the  Philistines."  But  I  must  confess, 
that  though  I  was  kept  correctly  moral  and  attentive 
while  at  college,  yet  I  knew  nothing  of  real  spiritu- 
alily,  till  about  three  months  after  I  was  curate  of 
Abley. 

Mrs.  Wor.  I  think,  sir,  you  have  told  us  before 
now,  that  the  first  serious  impressions  you  ever  felt, 
were  when  you  began  to  try  to  make  your  own  ser- 
mons. 

Loveg.  Though  I  had  my  qualms  when  at  college, 
that  all  was  not  right,  yet,  madam,  it  was  in  a  great 
measure  so;  for  as  I  was  accustomed  to  make  the 
exercises  for  the  boys  at  school,  and  was  frequently 
occupied  in  the  same  way  at  the  University,  I  thought 
after  all  this,  it  would  be  quite  scandalous  for  me  to 
go  about  to  buy,  beg,  and  borrow  sermons,  after  I  was 
admitted  into  orders. 

JUrs.  Wor.  Dear  sir,  as  your  coming  into  these 
parts  was  such  a  blessing  to  our  family,  and  many 
more  besides  ourselves,  if  you  don't  interrupt  Mr. 
Merryman  we  should  be  glad  if  you  would  proceed 
on  a  subject  so  interesting  to  us  all. 

Loveg.  Why,  madam,  when  I  began  to  try  to  com- 
pose my  own  sermons,  it  came  into  my  mind,  that  I 
should  make  ihem  somewhat  like  the  Bible.  The 
Bishop,  when  he  ordained  us,  said  we  should  not 
always  be  preaching  mere  moral  essays;  but  that  at 
limes  we  should  dwell  on  the  evangelical  truths  of  the 
Bible. 

IVor.  Well,  sir,  that  was  good  advice. 
Loveg.  It  proved  excellent  advice  to  me;  for  it 
immediately  set  me  on  the  study  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment: but  alas!  I  soon  found  the  spiritual  eye  was 
wanting,  whereby  spiritual  truths  alone  can  be  dis- 
cerned: for  as  to  many  things  1  found  in  the  gospel, 


340  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

I  had  enough  to  do  even  to  make  them  out;  but  when 
I  came  to  the  epistles,  I  soon  discovered  myself  to  be 
quite  out  of  my  depth,  as  the  few  pre-conceived 
notions  I  had  of  religion,  seemed  to  be  entirely  con- 
tradicted by  them.  And  when  1  had  procured  some 
of  the  fashionable  commentators  of  the  day,  such  as 
Whitby,  Locke,  and  Zachary  Pearce,  formerly  Bishop 
of  Rochester;  all  I  got  from  them  confused  me  but 
the  more;  as  it  always  struck  me  that  the  comment 
contradicted  the  text,  and  that  instead  of  explaining 
matters,  they  seemed  to  be  explaining  them  away. 
Some  things  were  to  be  confined  to  primitive  times, 
and  others  restricted  to  the  Christians,  as  just  coming 
from  under  the  Jewish  dispensation;  and  much  of 
the  Bible  was  to  mean  next  to  nothing,  because  it 
was  figurative  and  metaphorical;  but  when  I  came 
to  look  at  Zachary  Pearce's  comment  on  that  striking 
passage,  "One  thing  is  needful;'^  notwithstanding 
all  his  learning,  that  completely  did  for  him  in  my 
esteem. 

Wor.  Why,  what  did  he  make  of  it? 

Loveg.  That  one  dish  was  enough  for  supper. 

Wor.  Is  it  possible?  what  a  strange  letting  down 
of  such  a  fine  expression! 

J\Ier.  Yes,  and  I  remember  with  shame,  in  our 
difierent  carousings  with  each  other,  in  our  profane 
mirth,  how  we  used  to  laugh  at  the  interpretation, 
by  saying,  neither  one  dish  nor  one  bottle  would  be 
enough  for  us. 

Loveg.  Well,  well,  I  bless  God,  I  could  get  no  sa- 
tisfaction from  these  lame  interpreters,  for  with  all 
their  learning,  they  appeared  to  me  to  be  so  incon- 
sistent with  themselves.  And  one  evening,  how  was 
J  struck,  when  seeking  for  a  text?  my  eyes  were  fixed 
on  those  words  of  St.  Paul,  in  his  epistle  to  the  Co- 
lossians — "Ye  are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  with 
Christ  in  God."     For  a  time  I  could  make  nothing 


DIALOGUE  xviir.  341 

of  the  expression,  till  others,  very  similar,  forcibly 
entered  my  mind,  about  being  "crucified  with 
Christ;"  being  "dead  and  buried  with  him;"  and  of 
our  "being  risen  with  him;"  and  then  that  passage  in 
our  church  catechism,  as  it  relates  to  what  is  required 
of  all  baptized  Christians,  "a  death  unto  sin,  and  a 
new  birth  unto  righteousness."  It  struck  me,  that  I 
had  been  directed  to  instruct  children  in  a  doctrine 
which  was  unknown  to  my  own  heart,  and  that  I  was 
a  "blind  leader  of  the  blind."  At  that  moment  I 
fell  down  on  my  knees,  and  wept  excessively;  and 
prayed,  I  think  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  the 
first  time,  that  I  might  not  presume  to  continue  to  be 
the  pretended  instructer  of  the  ignorant,  while  so  ig- 
norant myself. 

Wor.  I  suppose  after  this,  the  tenor  of  your  preach- 
ing was  immediately  altered. 

Loveg.  Sir,  the  change  was  still  gradual.  T  knew 
I  was  wrong,  but  1  did  not  know  how  I  could  be  set 
right.  But  herein  the  providence  of  God  wonderfully 
favoured  me. 

J\Ier.  I  have  often  heard  you  explain  the  nature  of 
our  conversion  from  sin  to  God;  but  I  never  heard 
you  explain  so  particularly  the  nature  of  your  own 
conversion. — I  wish  you  would  proceed. 

Loveg.  When  I  first  came  to  my  curacy,  I  was 
told  that  five  or  six  people  went  regularly,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  to  hear  the  Rev.  Mr.  Slapdash,  who 
has  a  small  living  in  those  parts.  You  know  he  is  an 
animated,  bold  preacher,  and  is  attended  by  a  large 
congregation ;  and  I  never  could  hear  but  that  his  zeal 
is  tempered  with  prudence;  and  that  he  is  a  good 
man:  and  that  though  he  has  a  strong,  rapid,  hasty 
way  of  expressing  himself,  yet  what  he  delivers  is  en- 
tirely consistent  with  the  sound  truths  of  the  gospel. 
Still  their  absenting  themselves  from  the  church  gave 
considerable  ofience  to  the  pride  of  my  heart,  not 
VOL.  1. — 30 


342  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

knowing  that  it  was  my  ignorance  which  drove  them 
at  a  distance. 

However,  one  Sunday,  these  youns;  men,  contrary 
to  their  usual  custom,  stopt  at  home  to  hear  me.  It 
was  soon  after  that  text  of  scripture  so  impressed  my 
mind.  Ignorance  of  my  Bible,  and  consequently,  un- 
jfitness  for  my  office,  intermixed  with  our  workings 
of  corruption,  from  the  pride  and  anger  of  my  heart 
on  account  of  my  dark  preconceived  notions  in  reli- 
gion, having  been  so  contradicted  by  the  word  of 
God,  affected  me  not  a  little.  In  this  state  of  mind  I 
was  obliged  to  preach  as  well  as  I  could;  and  I  re- 
member I  was  remarkably  low  and  affected,  on  the 
Sunday  these  young  men  stopt  to  hear  me.  And 
while!  was  preaching,  I  saw  them  nodding  and 
smiling,  first  at  me,  and  then  at  each  other,  in  such 
an  uncommon  manner,  that  I  could  not  conceive  but 
that  they  meant  to  be  laughing  at  me  all  the  time  for 
my  ignorance;  especially  as  it  was  reported,  that  the 
man  they  went  to  hear  was  quite  a  madman:  and 
upon  this  I  went  the  next  day,  to  converse  with  them 
on  what  I  conceived  to  be  their  odd  conduct  at 
church.  My  mind  being  much  perplexed,  and  my 
spirits  very  low;  and  having  determined  to  speak  to 
them  with  much  mildness,  I  no  sooner  began  to  open 
my  mouth,  but  tears  started  from  my  eyes.  I  told 
them  they  should  not  have  laughed  at  me  before  all 
the  congregation,  on  account  of  what  they  thought  of 
my  ignorance,  for  that  I  did  my  best;  and  that  I 
hoped  and  prayed  to  God,  if  I  was  not  right,  he  would 
set  me  right. 

Wor.  Well,  and  what  effect  had  this  upon  the 
young  men? 

Loveg.  0  sir!  the  good  young  men  were  as  much 
affected  as  myself,  at  my  misconceptions  of  them. 
They  told  me  that  their  smiles  and  nods  were  the 
effect,  not  of  sneering  contempt,  but  of  approbation 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  343 

and  joy;  for  they  were  now  fully  persuaded  that  I 
should  soon  become  a  faithful  minister  of  the  gospel: 
and  that  they  never  went  to  church  while  young  Mr. 
Wanton  was  the  curate,  yet  as  they  saw  me  so  diffe- 
rent from  him,  and  as  it  was  reported  that  I  was 
likely  soon  to  be  mad  with  melancholy,  they  thought 
I  might  be  under  some  serious  impressions  respect- 
ing the  state  of  m}^  soul :  and  if  I  continued  to  preach 
as  I  had  done,  they  should  soon  discontinue  hearing 
Mr.  Slapdash,  though  he  was  a  very  powerful  and 
lively  preacher,  as  they  called  him,  and  a  very  good 
man. 

Wor.  Then  you  discovered  that  these  young  men 
were  truly  serious  and  good. 

Loveg.  Yes,  and  two  of  them  I  found  to  be  useful 
and  profitable  companions  to  me,  having  good  under- 
standings, which  they  had  well  improved  b}^  reading 
among  themselves  various  religious  authors.  And  I 
was  much  struck  before  we  parted,  at  the  great  mo- 
desty with  which  they  expressed  themselves,  wishing 
I  would  but  read  some  of  their  books  which  they  read 
among  themselves,  that  they  might  have  my  opinion 
how  far  I  approved  of  them.  They  then  showed  me 
their  little  library;  and  one  of  them  particularly  re- 
quested me  to  read  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  with  very 
precious  notes,  which  they  said,  by  way  of  recom- 
mending it,  were  written  by  a  very  learned  man,  and 
which  I  was  the  more  willing  to  do,  as  I  remembered 
reading  it  as  a  novel  when  a  child.  Among  other 
books,!  saw  they  had  Brown's  self-interpreting  Bible, 
and  as  I  began  to  be  entirely  sick  of  my  old  commen- 
tators, I  begged  to  borrow  it.  This  they  very  readily 
consented  to;  so  I  put  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  in  one 
pocket,  and  Boston's  Four-fold  State  in  the  other, 
and  went  home:  and  when  I  took  my  leave  of  them, 
I  was  very  much  surprised  at  their  humble  and  affec- 
tionate farewell ;  following  me  with  a  thousand  bless- 


344  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

ings,  and  thanking  me  most  cordially  for  my  visit. 
Soon  afterwards  I  found  one  of  them  at  my  heels 
with  Brown's  Bible,  which  they  wished  me  to  keep 
as  long  as  I  chose. 

Wor.  Well,  this  was  a  kind  Providence.  But  how 
did  you  seem  to  like  your  new  authors?  did  you 
much  admire  their  choice  of  books  for  you?  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  I  confess,  is  an  inimitable  drama, 
and  beautifully  describes  the  state  of  the  real  Chris- 
tian in  his  spiritual  progress;  yet  Bunyan,  in  the  ge- 
neral way,  happens  to  be  the  humble  treasure  of  di- 
vinity in  the  poor  man's  cottage;  and  I  fear  is  not  so 
often  to  be  found  in  the  study  of  a  contemplative  di- 
vine. 

Loveg.  Sir,  if  God  had  conferred  on  me  the  ho- 
nour of  being  the  author  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
I  should  have  been  tempted  to  be  the  proudest  man 
upon  earth.  However,  the  simplicity  and  affection 
of  the  good  people  I  went  to  see,  led  me  to  cast  my 
eyes  over  that  book  a  second  time,  very  much  to  my 
profit.  For  on  the  same  day  1  shut  myself  up  in  my 
study,  and  began  to  read.  Page  after  page,  my  at- 
tention was  arrested:  and  as  I  pursued  the  subject, 
light  continued  to  break  in  upon  my  mind,  while  it 
brought  me  upon  my  knees  again  and  again.  I  now 
began  to  see,  somewhat  clearly,  the  plan  of  the  gospel 
salvation  alone  by  Jesus  Christ.  Every  paragraph  I 
read  was  intermixed  with  a  tear  of  thankfulness  and 
surprise;  and  night  after  night,  I  was  happy  to  be 
sleepless,  that  I  might  pursue  the  pilgrims  on  their 
road,  as  I  now  began  to  find  I  could  travel  with  them, 
while  every  step  appeared  plain  before  me. 

J\Ier.  It  is  a  lovely  work,  when  we  can  read  and 
meditate  under  such  a  frame  of  mind.  I  remember 
how  I  used  to  hate  to  read  the  Bible,  merely  because 
I  could  not  understand  it;  but  as  soon  as  I  could 
enter  into  its  meaning,  I  found  no  book  like  it,     I 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  345 

recollect,  some  time  ago,  in  the  library  at  my  house, 
I  laid  my  hands  upon  a  book  written  by  Bishop 
Patrick,  called  the  Parable  of  the  Pilgrim,  but  1  found 
it  a  heavy  performance. 

Loveg.  Yes,  sir,  1  have  heard  of  it.  It  is  a  large 
lumpy  volume,  though  the  Bishop  was  a  serious  and 
respectable  man;  yet  while  Bunyan  keeps  you  awake, 
Patrick  lulls  you  asleep. 

Mer.  It  seems  then,  that  the  Tinker  was  a  wiser 
man  than  the  Bishop. 

Loveg.  Why  no  man  gets  either  brains  or  grace, 
by  education  or  title:  many  gifts  of  this  sort  we  may 
receive  as  the  gifts  of  the  God  of  nature,  or  of  pro- 
vidence; but  a  sanctified  use  of  these  blessings, 
comes  only  from  the  God  of  grace.  Bunyan  was 
certainly  a  very  eminent  man  in  his  plain  way. — 
Once,  it  seems,  he  was  very  profligate,  but  after- 
wards not  less  serious:  and  though  he  had  none  of 
the  advantages  of  education,  yet  he  was  possessed  of 
a  very  good  natural  understanding,  a  deep  knowledge 
of  the  word  of  God,  and  of  the  human  heart,  and  at 
the  same  time  very  rich  and  chaste  powers  of  in- 
vention. Such  was  the  character  of  the  author  of 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress;  and,  to  the  last  moment  of 
my  life,  shall  I  bless  God  for  that  book. 

Mer.  But  if  this  form.erly  wicked  tinker  became 
so  good  a  man,  and  such  an  excellent  preacher  and 
writer,  is  it  not  to  be  lamented  that  some  of  our  pre- 
sent  preachers  were  not  turned  into  tinkers,  provided 
we  could  get  such  another  set  of  tinkers  to  be  turned 
into  preachers? 

Wor.  I  perceive  Mr.  Merryman  will  be  Mr.  Mer- 
ryman  still.  But  we  interrupt  Mr.  Lovegood  in  his 
story. 

Loveg.    Why,  I   bless  God,  that  I   immediately 
found  myself  not  less  charmed  with  my  Bible,  than 
with  the  Pilgrim's  Progress:  its  glorious  contenti 
30* 


346  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

began  to  open  surprisingly  to  my  mind,  and  the  truths 
which  before  displeased  me,  I  not  only  could  receive 
without  controversy,  but  with  supreme  approbation 
and  delight. 

Mrs,  Wor.  You  have  also  told  us,  what  great  ad- 
vantage you  received  from  Mrs.  Goodworth,  after 
you  became  acquainted  with  her;  perhaps  Mr.  Mer- 
ryman  does  not  know  that  circumstance. 

Mer.  Who  was  Mrs.  Goodworth? 

Loveg.  She  was  the  aged  widow  of  a  Dissenting 
Minister;  and  when  I  first  came  into  the  parish,  I  was 
told  that  she  was  such  an  ill-natured,  cross-grained, 
dissenting  bigot,  that  she  would  sooner  seethe  church 
pulled  down  than  enter  within  the  doors.  But  a  few 
days  after  my  visit  to  the  young  men,  they  went  and 
informed  her  of  the  result  of  our  conversation,  and 
the  next  Sunday,  to  my  great  surprise,  I  found  her 
added  to  the  number  of  my  congregation;  and  as 
much  delighted  and  affected  as  the  young  men  were, 
the  Sunday  before.  On  the  Monday  I  thought  it 
my  duty  to  return  the  visit.  I  found  the  old  lady 
nursing  her  grandchildren:  she  took  me  into  a  little 
back  parlour,  and  immediately  burst  into  tears  of  joy, 
telling  me,  that  through  the  straitness  of  her  circum- 
stances, she  was  obliged  to  live  with  her  married 
daughter;  mentioning  how  much  it  had  affected  her, 
having  been  under  the  necessity  of  leaving  the  means 
of  grace,  by  living  at  a  distance  from  the  meeting 
where  her  husband  preached;  and  that  since  she 
could  not  go  after  the  gospel,  she  humbly  trusted 
that  in  answer  to  her  fervent  prayers,  the  gospel  was 
now  sent  after  her:  that  she  never  kept  from  the 
church  out  of  bigotry,  but  only  because  she  feared 
Mr.  Wanton,  my  predecessor,  was  very  impure,  and 
consequently  a  very  improper  man  to  administer  the 
word  of  life  to  others;  being  himself  *'dead  in  tres- 
passes and  sins;"  but  that  now  she  not  only  meant 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  347 

to  come  to  church,  but  to  sacrament  if  I  would  per- 
mit her.  She  then  asked  me  to  go  to  prayer:  this 
was  new  work  to  me,  and  put  me  to  the  blush. 
However,  as  I  had  lately  in  private  found  my  way 
to  a  throne  of  grace,  I  did  not  refuse,  though  if  it 
had  not  been  for  shame  I  should  rather  have  put 
that  office  upon  the  old  lady:  as  I  am  sure  I  needed 
her  prayers  for  my  growth  in  grace,  and  for  my  in- 
crease in  divine  knowledge.  The  next  time  the  com- 
munion was  administered,  she  was  with  us  at  the 
table;  and  1  well  remember,  when  I  gave  her  the 
elements,  how  affectionately  she  looked  up  at  me, 
and  wept  so  plentifully  that  she  even  bedewed  my 
hands  with  her  tears. 

Mrs.  Wor.  What  a  sweet  proof  this  was  of  the 
loving  and  uniting  spirit  of  the  gospel,  among  all 
who  love  the  Lord  Jesus  in  sincerity! 

Wor,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  your  acquaintance  with 
the  good  old  lady,  was  very  profitable. 

Loveg.  Yes,  sir;  and  still  more  so,  as  I  got  ac- 
quainted with  her  library:  for  though  she  had  sold 
some  of  her  husband's  books,  yet  others  of  them  she 
had  preserved.  Among  these,  I  found  many  of  the 
writings  of  Owen,  Flavel,  President  Edwards,  Gur- 
nall's  Christian  in  complete  Armour,  Archbishop 
Usher  on  the  Sum  and  Substance  of  the  Christian 
Religion,  Bishop  Downham  on  Justification,  Bishop 
Hall's  Works,  and  others.  These  she  used  to  call  her 
Sunday  company;  and  to  these  I  had  at  all  times  free 
access:  and  about  three  years  afterwards,  when  she 
found  herself  in  dying  circumstances,  she  gave  me 
several  of  them  as  keepsakes. 

Mer.  The  loss  of  this  good  old  lady,  must  have 
considerably  afiected  you. 

Loveg.  Yes;  but  then  her  death  was  so  glorious! 
On  my  last  visit  she  cried,  "This  is  not  dying;  be- 
lievers never  die:  I  am  just  going  to  enter  the  pre- 


348  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

sence  chamber  of  my  Lord.''  And  then  she  sung, 
or  rather  attempted  to  sing,  with  peculiar  melody  of 
heart,  that  verse  from  Dr.  Watts,  (whose  hymns  she 
frequently  quoted  in  her  last  sickness,) 

Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are; 
While  on  his  breast  I  lean  my  head, 

And  breathe  my  life  out  sweetly  there. 

Then  she  paused  and  said,  taking  me  by  the  hand, 
affectionately,  here  1  lie,  just  going  to  gloryj  and 
then  repeated  another  verse: 

A  guilty,  weak,  and  helpless  worm, 

On  thy  kind  arms  I  fall; 
Be  thou  my  strength  and  righteousness, 

My  Jesus  and  my  all. 

Then  she  would  cry  out,  "0!  this  precious  believ- 
ing in  the  Son  of  God!"  "Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  the  heart  of  man,  the 
things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
him;"  "He  hath  loved  me,  and  given  himself  for 
me;"  and  "he  sheds  abroad  this  his  most  precious 
love  in  my  heart;"  and  "  I  feel  it  like  a  warm  coal  of 
living  fire,  while  I  am  struggling  in  the  cold  arms  of 
death."  Thus  she  went  on,  blessing  and  praising 
God,  and  triumphing  in  the  redeeming  love  of  Christ, 
to  the  latest  moments  of  her  life;  repeatedly  saying, 
"0  Death!  where  is  thy  sting?  0  grave!  where  is 
thy  victory?"  0  sir!  it  is  a  glorious  sight,  to  see  be- 
lievers departing  in  the  triumphs  of  faith,  and  with 
"  a  hope  full  of  immortality." 

PVor.  No  doubt,  but  that  your  acquaintance  with 
all  these  good  people,  proved  a  considerable  help, 
though  they  were  inferior  to  you  in  point  of  educa- 
tional knowledge. 

Loveg.  Yes;  but  1  found  myself  much  inferior  to 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  349 

them  in  point  of  experimental  knowledge.  No  earth- 
ly wisdom,  however  good  in  its  place,  will  do  as  a 
substitute  for  "  that  wisdom  which  is  from  above." 
But  1  soon  got  acquainted  with  two  very  excellent 
clergymen  in  those  parts,  and  with  a  worthy  dissent- 
ing minister,  whose  name  was  Peaceful;  and  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  calling  on  Mrs.  Goodworth,  though 
they  all  lived  at  some  distance  from  us. 

Wor.  We  should  be  glad  if  you  would  tell  us  how 
that  was  brought  about. 

Loveg.  Why,  sir,  the  next  Sunday,  only  two  of  the 
young  men  attended  the  church,  and  I  suspect  they 
went  over  to  Mr.  Slapdash;  for  about  a  fortnight  after, 
1  received  an  anonymous,  though  an  affectionate  let- 
ter, signed  '^Faucis  inter  Clerum,"^  mentioning  their 
exceeding  joy  on  the  report  which  had  been  com- 
municated to  them,  declaring  at  the  same  time,  that 
they  sought  my  acquaintance  from  the  purest  mo- 
tives of  Christianity,  and  from  a  desire  of  cultivating 
the  most  affectionate  intimacy  with  all  the  spiritual 
and  evangelical  ministers  of  their  own  community. 
Interwoven  in  this  letter,  there  was  a  great  number 
of  very  strong  and  animated  expressions,  warning 
me  against  the  fear  of  man ;  and  charging  me  to  preach 
the  gospel,  and  the  gospel  only,  faithfully,  and  di- 
rectly to  the  sinner's  heart  and  conscience,  as  far  as 
divine  light  broke  in  upon  my  mind;  so  that  it  im- 
mediately struck  me,  that  Mr.  Slapdash  was  the  prin- 
cipal composer  of  the  letter. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  this 
proved  a  gracious  circumstance  in  your  favour. 

Loveg.  Sir,  it  proved  a  gracious  circumstance  in- 
deed: for  I  immediately  wrote  an  answer  to  their 
truly  affectionate  letter,  and  a  few  days  after,  Mr. 
Slapdash  came  over  to  my  lodgings;  and  how  the 

*  From  a  few  among  the  clergy. 


350  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

dear  man  rejoiced  over  me  to  find  me  in  such  a  frame 
of  mind !  Indeed,  all  things  considered,  he  proved  the 
best,  and  most  suitable  companion  1  ever  met  with. 
You  know  I  am  naturally  timid;  Mr.  Slapdash  is  al- 
together Lutheran  and  bold,  yet  not  less  loving  and 
afi'ectionate;  and  though,  perhaps,  every  word  he  ad- 
vances may  not  be  within  the  severer  rules  of  mo- 
deration, yet  I  believe  that  his  bold  strokes,  and  wild 
notes  are  more  serviceable  for  the  good  of  his  neigh- 
bours, than  all  the  fine  set  music,  we  may  have  about 
the  country  besides. 

J\Ier.  How  long,  sir,  did  you  continue  in  that  cu- 
racy ? 

Loveg.  Not  much  more  than  four  years:  for  when 
I  began  to  be  serious,  and  to  preach  the  salvation  of 
Christ,  my  Rector  was  soon  informed  of  it,  and  wrote 
me  several  letters  on  my  "new  notions  of  religion," 
as  he  called  them,  which  brought  on  a  long  epistolary 
correspondence.  But  when  he  heard  that  I  had 
preached  a  funeral  sermon  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  Good- 
worth,  and  that  I  walked  with  Mr.  Peaceful,  as  a 
brother  minister,  to  the  grave,  his  patience  was  quite 
exhausted,  and  he  gave  me  warning  to  quit. 

Wor.  Why,  where  could  be  the  harm  of  that? 

Loveg.  Sir,  my  Rector  had  imbibed  all  the  strange, 
wild,  high-church  notions  of  Mr.  Daubeny  and 
others,  in  such  an  extravagant  manner,  that  he  sup- 
posed I  had  been  guilty  of  the  most  enormous  crime, 
in  preaching  a  funeral  sermon  over  one  that  had  re- 
ceived schismatical  baptism,  and  had  lived  in  schism 
almost  all  the  days  of  her  life. 

Mer.  Why,  did  not  your  preaching  bring  her  back 
again  to  the  church? 

Loveg.  Yes,  but  all  that  operated  against  me:  he 
supposed  me  to  be  at  least  half  a  schismatic  myself, 
since  such  a  set  of  schismatical  people  ran  after  me. 
And  again,  he  had   heard   from  the  neighbouring 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  351 

clergy,  that  I  drew  away  people  from  their  regular 
attendance  at  their  own  parish  churches:  thus,  for 
having  a  full  church,  and  for  bringing  Dissenters  to 
the  communion,  I  lost  my  curacy. 

Wor.  I  am  afraid  that  many  others  of  the  clergy 
are  much  more  worthy  of  the  blame  charged  on  you; 
who,  by  their  false  doctrine  and  improper  conduct, 
drive  churchmen  to  be  dissenters  by  thousands. — 
But  though  you  have  often  told  us  what  a  painful 
dismissal  this  was  to  you,  when  you  were  compelled 
to  leave  a  congregation  so  seriously  impressed,  and 
being  also  the  first-fruits  of  your  ministry;  yet  it 
proved  a  happy  event  for  us. 

Loveg.  Sir,  "God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways." 
What  man  designs  as  evil,  he  frequently  overrules 
for  good;  and  I  bless  his  name,  I  was  not  sent  there 
but  for  gracious  purposes.  For  after  I  had  been  in 
my  curacy  about  three  years,  I  thought  it  a  call  in 
providence,  that  1  should  marry  the*  sister  of  one  of 
the  young  men  who  visited  me,  and  who  was  a  cre- 
ditable farmer's  daughter,  having  a  small  freehold  of 
his  own;  so  that  I  got  in  the  parish  of  Abley,  two  of 
the  greatest  hlessings  in  life,  a  good  wife,  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  gospel. 

Mer.  It  is  a  great  mercy,  when  we  can  leave  all 
things  in  the  hands  of  God:  "he  doeth  all  things 
well." 

Loveg.  In  many  instances  I  found  this  to  be  the 
case;  for  being  thus  dismissed  from  my  curacy,  the 
pity  of  many  was  excited  towards  me;  though  from 
that  hour  to  this,  I  never  could  discover  who  it  was 
that  represented  my  case  to  the  notice  of  the  Chan- 
cellor, when  I  received  the  presentation  to  the  vicar- 
age of  this  parish.  All  1  know  is,  that  a  short,  kind 
letter  was  sent,  asking  me  the  question,  that  as  the 
Chancellor  had  heard  of  my  character  and  situation, 
he  wished  to  know  if  the  living  of  Lower  Brookfield 


352  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

would  be  worth  my  acceptance.  I  was  happy  to 
embrace  the  kind  offer  immediately.  Our  first 
child  was  born  about  three  weeks  before  this  event 
took  place;  and  just  when  we  began  to  harbour  un- 
believing fears  about  how  we  could  subsist  upon  our 
scanty  income,  this  merciful  event  in  providence  took 
place. 

Wor.  Alas,  sir!  the  living  of  Brookfield  is  still  but 
a  scanty  maintenance  for  5''ourself  and  family. 

Loveg.  Why,  sir,  my  curacy  was  but  sixty  pounds 
a  year,  so  that  the  living  of  this  parish  has  above 
doubled  my  income,  besides  the  privilege  of  being 
independent  in  the  discharge  of  my  duty,  which  wai 
never  the  case  while  I  was  curate  of  Abley.  MyRec- 
tor  was  always  saying,  that  I  was  feeding  my  own 
vanity,  in  affecting  to  be  more  abundantly  zealous 
than  others;  and  as  this  sort  of  conduct  indirectly  re- 
flected upon  the  rest  of  the  clergy,  who  were  con- 
tented to  do  no  more  than  what  was  regularly  ex- 
pected from  them,  he  could  by  no  means  allow  his 
curate  to  do  more  than  others, 

Mer.  Ah,  sir!  it  would  have  been  well  for  me,  if 
my  living  had  been  no  better  than  yours;  but  as  it 
is,  I  suppose,  about  four  times  the  value,  I  found  my- 
self quite  at  liberty  to  run  after  that  which  I  liked  best. 
Thus  from  the  income  of  my  living,  which  1  received 
for  spiritual  purposes,  I  could  procure  for  myself  all 
that  my  carnal  heart  could  wish  to  enjoy. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  you  now  know  the  worth  of  the 
gospel  since  you  have  felt  its  power,  and  when  our 
hearts  are  converted  to  God,  we  shall  dedicate  our 
property  to  his  glory.  But  there  is  a  sad  inequality 
in  church  preferment,  and  that  is  frequently  sadly 
disposed  of. 

JVfrs.  Wor.  Now,  Mr.  Merryman,  we  shall  be  glad 
to  hear  you  again.  You  have  told  us  enough  of  the 
worst  part  of  your  story,  but  nothing  of  the  better: 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  353 

will  you  next  favour  us  with  the  latter  part  of  your 
narrative?  No  doubt  but  that  it  will  be  much  more 
pleasing  than  the  former. 

Mer.  Why,  madam,  there  has  been  with  me  so 
much  of  the  bad  and  so  little  of  the  good,  that  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  you  will  soon  hear  all  I  have  got  to  ad- 
vance on  that  subject:  though  I  must  relate,  to  my 
shame,  more  of  the  bad,  before  1  tell  you  any  thing 
of  the  good. 

Jl^'frs.  Wor.  Had  you  then  no  serious  impressions 
before  you  heard  our  minister  at  the  visitation? 

Mer.  Madam,  till  that  time,  I  was  acting  as  the 
vainest  puppy  that  ever  lived;  always  aflfecung  the 
easy  air  of  the  conceited  gentleman,  and  as  much 
ashamed  of  my  professional  character  as  I  well  could 
be;  yet  1  by  no  means  found  myself  happy  in  my 
light,  frothy  state  of  mind. 

Loveg.  No  wonder  that  you  were  ashamed  of  your 
professional  character  while  you  acted  as  you  did. 

Mer.  Yes,  but  while  I  was  engaged  in  my  office 
many  a  stinging  conviction  was  brought  home  to  my 
mind:  for  while  I  was  reading  the  prayers,  and  ac- 
knowledging sin,  in  language  in  itself  so  humble  and 
just,  saying  that  "I  had  done  those  things  which  I 
ought  not  to  have  done,  and  that  I  had  left  undone 
those  things  which  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  that 
there  was  no  health  in  me;"  and  that  "God  would 
not  despise  the  sighings  of  a  contrite  heart,  or  the  de- 
sire of  such  as  are  sorrowful:"  I  used  to  think  what 
profane  mockery  and  hypocrisy  it  all  was.  How 
1  was  ashamed  of  myself,  when  I  considered  what 
people  must  think  of  me,  while  I  was  reading  such 
prayers,  and  leading  such  a  life! — But  in  nothing  was 
I  more  disgusted  with  myself,  than  by  the  frequent  pe- 
titions I  was  obliged  to  make  use  of  for  the  grace  and 
influence,  and  inspiration  of  God's  Holy  Spirit;  espe- 
cially while  I  used  to  hear  many  of  the  clergy,  who 
VOL.  I — 31 


354  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

were  no  better  than  myself,  ridicule  every  idea  of  di- 
vine influences;  and  when  I  also  had  in  the  bundle  of 
my  sermons,  that  I  had  either  bought,  borrowed,  or 
begged,  three  that  were  designed  to  expose  such  pre- 
tensions to  divine  operations  as  being  nothing  better 
than  downright  enthusiasm.  In  short,  sir,  I  could 
neither  bear  my  office,  nor  bear  myself  on  account  of 
my  office;  and  no  one  can  tell,  what  I  used  to  feel, 
when  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  administering  the 
sacrament,  and  how  I  used  to  dread  and  hate  the  re- 
turn of  those  days,  when  I  had  to  repeat  these  words, 
''  the  remembrance  of  our  sins  is  grievous  unto  us, 
and  the  burden  of  them  is  intolerable:'^  my  conscience 
would  tell  me,  that  I  was  uttering  before  God,  an 
intolerable  lie,  and  was  about  to  take  the  sacrament 
with  this  abominable  lie  in  my  mouth.  Then  again, 
I  was  forcibly  struck  after  the  administration,  while 
I  was  obliged  to  use  these  words;  ''And  here  we  of- 
fer and  present  unto  thee,  0  Lord,  ourselves,  our 
souls,  and  bodies,  to  be  a  reasonable,  holy,  and  lively 
sacrifice  unto  thee;"  that  directly  after  I  had  been 
receiving  the  sacrament,  I  repeated  the  crime  by 
mocking  God  with  another  lie;  for  that  I  knew  in  my 
conscience,  I  had  no  design  whatever  to  devote  my- 
self to  the  glory  of  God,  but  to  continue  the  same 
loose,  wild  way  of  living  as  before. 

Loveg.  It  is  really  astonishing,  that  we  can  mock 
God  by  repeating  such  solemn  words,  and  even  on  a 
sacramental  occasion!  But  had  you  many  who  came 
to  the  sacrament? 

J\Ier.  Very  few,  sir;  very  few  indeed:  and  when 
1  used  to  see  some  of  these  grave  old  people  come 
with  their  Week's  Preparation  books,  I  wondered 
what  they  could  think  of  me,  who  had  been  running 
after  all  the  vain  amusements  within  my  reach  through- 
out all  the  week:  if  they  had  any  reflection,  I  am 
sure  they  must  have  concluded  that  I  was  nothing 
better  than  a  mere  hireling  and  a  xcolfi 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  355 

Loveg.  How  did  you  use  to  feel  when  you  were 
called  to  visit  the  sick? 

J\Ier.  Ah,  sir  I  it  was  but  seldom  that  the  people 
thought  it  worth  their  while  to  send  after  such  a 
giddy,  dissipated  youth  as  I  then  was.  On  these  oc- 
casions they  naturally  concluded,  that  prayers,  mere- 
ly said  from  the  lips  of  such  a  light,  frothy  chap, 
could  be  of  little  avail  in  the  solemn  moments  of  their 
dissolution.  But  whenever  I  had  an  office  of  that 
sort  to  perform,  no  one  can  tell  how  1  abhorred  the 
task.  However,  I  used  to  take  out  my  little  black  ser- 
vice-book, read  a  few  prayers  over  as  fast  as  I  could, 
and  then  off  again  to  my  sports.  I  remember  once, 
I  had  the  misfortune  to  be  called  to  this  office  from 
the  card  table;  I  accordingly  put  the  deal  in  my 
pocket,  and  went  to  my  hated  task;  and  while  I  was 
taking  out  my  book  and  my  handkerchief,  all  over 
perfume,  to  prevent  the  offensive  smell  of  a  sick  cham- 
ber, (for  I  had  a  deal  of  affected  delicacy  about  me.) 
I  whisked  out  all  tlie  cards,  while  the  nurse  had  to 
pick  them  up  again— and  then  I  went  to  my  devotions! 

fVor.  It  is  a  great  mercy,  that  the  wickedness  and 
enmity  of  your  heart  did  not  prevent  your  giving  a 
serious  hearing  to  Mr.  Lovegood,  when  he  preached 
the  visitation  sermon. 

Mer.  Sir,  in  all  my  levity  and  wickedness,  while 
I  could  join  with  others  in  skits  and  jokes  against  real 
religion;  yet  I  had  a  sort  of  secret  respect  for  those 
who  were  truly  serious  and  consistent:  I  was  con- 
vinced their  characters  were  preferable  to  mine.  My 
principal  mischief  arose  from  a  light,  trifling,  and 
frothy  spirit,  by  which  I  was  entirely  captivated;  till 
my  heart,  I  trust,  was  instructed  to  know  somewhat 
of  the  grace  of  God  in  truth. 

Loveg.  Well,  I  bless  God,  being  of  a  more  studi- 
ous turn  of  mind,  I  was  kept  from  the  same  excess  of 


356  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

vanity;  nor  could  T  bear  the  company  of  the  more 
dissolute  of  the  rest  of  our  body:  but  if  more  decent 
I  was  not  less  ignorant  of  the  way  of  salvation  re- 
vealed in  the  Bible,  than  yourself;  and  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood there  lived  another  clergyman,  known 
by  the  name  of  Mr.  Soberman,  who  was  very  correct 
and  chaste  in  the  whole  of  his  deportment:  we  still 
keep  up  a  very  friendly  intercourse  with  each  other; 
though  he  always  told  me  I  had  gone  too  far.  I  am 
satisfied  of  this;  we  should  ever  speak  well  of  good 
wherever  we  find  it;  and  I  should  be  happy, if  in  every 
country,  and  in  every  line  of  life,  men  of  such  cha- 
racters were  more  universally  to  be  found.  It  would 
be  horrid  indeed,  if  all  the  clergy  were  equally  dis-- 
solute  and  profane. 

Mer.  0  sir!  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  be  acquainted  with 
a  sad  example  of  the  worst  men  of  every  character. 
Some  of  these  were  professed  libertine  Deists:  and 
among  the  clergy  themselves  I  found  some  Deists 
in  disguise.  But  what  can  be  expected  from  the 
church  under  present  circumstancesi^  You  know,  sir, 
at  the  time  of  our  public  ordinations,  near  the  Uni- 
versities, what  scenes  are  exhibited,  when  a  set  of 
such  thoughtless  youths  take  upon  them  this  most 
sacred  office.  If  the  world  knew  half  our  tricks, 
how  they  would  hate  us  for  our  hypocrisy,  and  how 
should  we  be  treated  as  im posers  on  the  credulity  of 
mankind. 

Wor.  I  confess,  all  who  truly  love  the  church,  can- 
not but  lament  how  ill  she  is  served.  But  what  was 
it  that  so  impressed  your  mind,  while  you  heard  Mr. 
Lovegood  preach  his  visitation  sermon?* 

Mer.  Why,  sir,  when  we  heard  that  Mr.  Love- 
good  was  to  be  the  preacher,  as  we  had  been  informed 
of  his  character  before,  we  were  all  attention;  some 

*  It  is  the  general  custom,  that  some  new  Rector  or  Vicar 
lately  inducted  should  preach  the  Visitation  sermon. 


DIALOGUE  XVIII.  357 

out  of  envy,  and  others  out  of  curiosity,  and  a  few 
perhaps  out  of  good  will.  But  as  1  so  hated  myself, 
on  account  of  my  office,  I  thought  1  had  no  right  to 
blame  others,  whose  lives  were  more  consistent  than 
my  own;  so  I  confess,  I  attended  not  only  without 
any  prejudice,  but  rather  with  a  strong  prepossession 
upon  my  mind,  that  I  should  hear  somewhat,  well 
worthy  of  my  attention;  for  I  was  persuaded  Mr. 
Lovegood  was  a  much  better  man  than  myself. 

Loveg.  [To  Mr.  Worthy.]  Sir,  as  we  have  done 
tea,  if  1  am  to  be  made  the  subject  of  conversation, 
I  shall  withdraw  and  desire  Edward  to  take  away  his 
tea  equipage,  and  sit  a  little  while  with  poor  Mrs. 
Chipman.  I  wish  to  put  these  few  sheets  into  her 
hands,  [he  reads  the  title  page]  "  The  Tempestuous 
Soul  calmed  by  Jesus  Christ.^' 

Mr.  Lovegood  having  thus  withdrawn,  the  present 
dialogue  shall  be  concluded,  that  the  reader's  atten- 
tion may  have  time  to  rest  before  he  hears  more  of 
Mr.  Merryman,  and  of  the  gracious  influences  of  the 
gospel;  which  wrought  so  wonderfully  on  his  mind, 
and  which  produced  such  pleasing  consequences  on 
his  ministry,  and  on  the  whole  of  his  life  and  con- 
versation. 


31* 


DIALOGUE  XIX. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  THREE  SORTS  OF  MI- 
NISTERS, REPRESENTED  IN  CONTRAST 
WITH  EACH  OTHER. 


MR.  WORTHY  AND  FAMILY;  MR.  LOVEGOOD,  AND  MR. 
MERRYMAN. 

Before  Mr.  Merry  man  favours  us  with  a  far- 
ther narration  on  the  subject  of  his  experience,  per- 
haps it  might  not  be  unacceptable  to  my  readers, 
were  they  to  be  advertised,  that  there  were  two  other 
ministers  in  the  same  neighbourhood,  of  names  near- 
ly similar  to  that  of  Slapdash  before  mentioned,  Mr. 
Slopdash,  and  Mr.  Taplash.  The  character  of  Mr. 
Slapdash  has  sufficiently  appeared  from  the  preceding 
dialogue.  Mr.  Slopdash  would  frequently  boast  that 
he  was  of  the  same  family  with  Mr.  Slapdash;  but, 
by  all  accounts,  the  relationship  was  very  distant 
indeed.  It  is  charitably  hoped  that  Mr.  Slopdash 
was  a  good  man.  But  while  Mr.  Slapdash  had  a  mind 
warm  and  animated,  the  other  was  vehement  and  rash, 
and  would  insult  his  hearers  with  gross  personal  re- 
flections, which  were  too  frequently  administered 
with  great  indiscretion;  and  this  he  caWed  faithfulness. 
Mr.  Slapdash  could  also  give  hard  slaps  when  need- 
ed, but,  in  general,  they  were  administered  with  dis- 
cretion; and  if  at  any  time,  through  the  natural  ra- 
pidity of  his  constitution,  he  failed,  yet  being  pos- 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  359 

sessed  of  the  "meekness  and  gentleness  that  was  in 
Christ,"  his  mistakes  were  soon  corrected;  if  at  times 
he  tripped  through  the  rapidity  of  his  mind,  he  never 
fell  into  the  mire  through  the  prevailing  impurity  of 
his  heart. 

Mr.  Slopdash  had  a  mind  that  was  naturally  low, 
vulgar,  and  coarse.  The  sentiments  of  Mr.  Slap- 
dash, on  the  contrary,  were  elevated  and  pure.  If 
ever  he  descended,  it  was  like  the  swallow,  just  to 
dip  the  tip  of  his  wings  in  the  stream,  and  again 
ascend.  But  Mr.  Slopdash  was  quite  the  duckj  he 
could  go  down  into  the  filthy  kennel  of  human  cor- 
ruption, and  turn  it  up  from  the  very  bottom,  and 
then  glory  in  his  performance.  Mr.  Slapdash,  after 
he  had  taken  his  text,  would  for  awhile  stick  to  it; 
and  give  it  a  very  just  and  correct  interpretation, 
though  afterwards,  from  the  warm  and  animated 
frame  of  his  mind,  he  would  branch  out  so  as 
to  surprise  his  hearers,  by  a  brilliancy  of  thought, 
peculiar  to  himself.  His  severer  hearers  would 
blame  him  for  these  eccentricities,  and  call  him  a 
rambling  preacher;  though  still  he  was  correct  in  his 
divinity,  and  well-intentioned  in  his  design;  and  in 
all  his  ramblings  he  was  ever  sure  to  keep  upon  holy 
f^round. 

Mr.  Slopdash,  on  the  contrary,  when  he  had  taken 
a  text,  would  not  so  much  consider  its  sense^  as  its 
sound;  and  would  conceive  himself  wonderfully 
clever  if  he  could  hit  upon  a  meaning,  the  most  pre- 
posterous and  absurd,  by  way  of  explaining  a  passage 
the  most  perspicuous  and  plain.  He  once  vociferated 
for  an  hour  on  this  text:  "  Behold,  says  Pharaoh's 
baker,  I  had  three  white  baskets  on  my  head," 
Gen.  xl.  16;  and  from  hence  he  proved  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity,  whereby  he  astonished  his  auditory 
not  a  little,  and  pleased  them  hugely;  for  they  never 
heard  before,  that  the  three  baskets  meant  the  three 
persons  in  the  Trinity! !  ! 


360  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

He  also  proved  nearly  the  same  doctrine  from  the 
history  of  Esther;  that  Ahasuerus  was  God  the  Fa- 
ther, that  Mordecai  was  God  the  Son,  that  Esther 
was  the  Church,  and  that  Haman  was  the  Devil.  As 
to  myself,  I  rather  doubt  the  justice  of  the  interpre- 
tation: for,  if  we  abide  by  it,  that  the  devil  was 
hung,  upwards  of  two  thousand  three  hundred  years 
ago,  (though  he  certainly  deserved  it,)  it  is  impossible 
to  suppose  that  such  a  wonderful  deal  of  mischief 
could  have  been  done  ever  since,  by  a  dead  devil. 
While  it  is  not  less  surprising  that  upwards  of  five 
hundred  years  after  his  execution,  he  should  have 
been  represented  by  Paul  as  being  all  alive,  and  full 
of  activity,  going  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour. 
It  is,  however,  charitably  to  be  concluded,  that  the 
defects  of  Mr.  Slopdash  were  not  in  his  heart,  but 
in  his  head.  His  brains  were  unfortunately  very  ill- 
screwed  together,  though  had  they  been  screwed 
too  close,  certainly  many  of  his  floating  ideas  would 
have  been  terribly  cramped;  but  as  it  happened, 
matters  with  him  were  in  a  very  contrary  extreme. 
No  wonder,  therefore,  that  this  shatter-brained  divine, 
should  by  the  rattling  and  lax  state  of  his  tongue, 
evidence  so  strongly,  the  loose  state  of  his  brains. 
Mr.  Slopdash  was  driven,  with  others  of  the  same 
mind,  into  this  wild  way  of  interpreting  the  Scrip- 
tures, not  only  in  the  above  instances,  but  in  a  variety 
of  others,  equally  as  absurd,  from  having  admitted  too 
slight  notions  of  the  necessity  of  the  practical  and 
preceptive  part  of  the  Word  of  God.  Hence  he  had 
almost  run  into  the  abominable  idea,  urged  by  some 
Ranters  of  late  and  modern  times;  that  "the  law  is 
no  rule  of  life  to  a  believer;"  but  his  mind  was  not 
altogether  so  vitiated  as  to  admit  a  doctrine,  so  gross- 
ly blasphemous  against  the  holiness  of  God.  He 
appears  evidently  vindicated  from  this  charge,  even 
from  the  fanciful,  absurd  interpretation  he  gave  of  the 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  361 

following  text:  "He  that  loveth  pleasure,  shall  be  a 
poor  man;  he  that  loveth  wine  and  oil,  shall  not  be 
rich."  Having  thrown  aside  the  common-sense  inter- 
pretation of  the  passage,  as  directing  us  to  avoid  sinful 
pleasures  and  extravagant  indulgences,  he  insisted 
upon  it,  that  the  pleasure  there  meant,  was  the  plea- 
sure of  true  godliness,  and  that  being  a  poor  man  was 
to  be  understood  as  being  "poor  in  spirit;"  and  that 
loving  wine  and  oil,  was  to  represent  our  loving  the 
spiritual  blessings  of  the  gospel,  and  that  such  people 
should  not  be  rich  in  their  own  esteem. — Such  was 
the  spiritual  nonsense  that  flowed  in  large  abundance, 
from  the  pate  of  this  shatter-brained  divine. 

However  there  was  another  Mr.  Slopdash,  not  far 
distant,  a  base-born  offspring  of  the  same  family,  equal- 
ly as  ignorant,  but  of  a  much  worse  disposition:  with 
him  neither  Mr,  Lovegood  nor  INIr.  Merryman  could 
keep  up  the  least  possible  connexion,  as  his  doctrine 
had,  at  all  times,  a  secret  tendency  to  prove  his  hatred 
to  holiness;  and  his  life  was  no  better  than  his  doc- 
trine, while  his  spirit  and  temper  were  as  bitter  as 
wormwood  and  gall.  This,  therefore,  rendered  him 
a  very  dangerous  preacher  indeed,  for  while  he  pre- 
tended to  be  such  a  stanch  friend  to  the  doctrine 
of  Christ,  he  was  a  dangerous  enemy  to  the  mind  of 
Christ,  while  many  were  found,  being  as  ignorant  as 
himself,  eagerly  to  swallow  down  his  insulting  dog- 
mas, as  if  they  were  consistent  with  those  pure  and 
holy  truths  which  are  revealed  in  the  Word  of  God. 
He  once  exemplified  his  horrid  art  in  thus  per- 
verting the  scriptures,  while  he  made  a  preachment 
from  these  words:  "Before  the  cock  crow,  thou  shalt 
deny  me  thrice."  He  actually  misconstrued  this 
holy  word  of  caution,  or  rather  prophecy,  given  by  our 
Lord  to  his  presumptuous  disciple  Peter,  into  an  ex- 
press command,  "Thou  shalt  deny  me;"  and  thus 
proved  that  the  law  could  not  be  a  rule  of  life  to  a 
believer ! ! ! 


362  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

I  was  told  also,  on  another  occasion,  he  exhibited 
on  this  text:  "It  is  better  to  dwell  in  a  corner  of 
the  house  top,  than  with  a  brawling  woman  in  a 
wide  house.^'  First,  he  insisted  upon  it,  that  the 
Proverbs  are  not  to  be  considered  in  a  moral,  but  a 
gospel  point  of  view. — That  the  brawling  woman 
was  the  Law;  and  that  dwelling  in  the  corner  of 
the  house,  meant  being  shut  up  in  the  Church:  and 
there  the  Law  could  not  brawl  at  us,  as  all  in  the 
Church  were  in  a  justified  state ;  but  they  who  were 
living  in  the  wide  house,  he  represented  as  living  in 
the  wide  house  of  the  world,  and  that  they  would  hear 
the  brawUngs  of  the  law,  scolding  them  fOr  their  wic- 
kedness. So  that  this  Mr.  Slopdash  had  no  idea  of  the 
wickedness  he  was  guilty  of,  in  giving  such  a  view  of 
the  just  and  holy  law,  by  comparing  its  most  righteous 
sentence  against  our  unrighteousness,  to  the  brawling 
of  an  angry  woman.  From  the  same  bad  principle, 
this  same  Mr.  Slopdash  would  also  insult  the  minds 
of  all  chaster  hearers  of  the  Gospel,  by  telling  them 
that  we  should  not  perplex  the  souls  of  the  elect,  by 
preaching  up  more  holiness  than  God  designed  they 
should  possess;  because  ^' sin  could  do  the  believer 
no  harm,^'  and  that  when  the  apostle  said,  <' without 
holiness  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord,"  he  meant  with- 
out Christ  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord,  which  is  a  so- 
lemn truth,  though  designed  by  him  to  cover  a  most 
vile  antinomian  conclusion  against  the  necessity  of 
personal  holiness  on  the  souls  of  men. 

If  I  have  not  already  exhausted  the  reader's  pa- 
tience, he  shall  have  some  farther  evidence  how  this 
man  could  pervert  the  wise  book  of  Proverbs,  into 
language  the  most  preposterous  and  absurd;  for  thus 
it  seems  he  was  in  the  habit  of  interpreting  what 
Solomon  says  of  the  four  things  that  disquiet  the 
earth:  <<A  servant  when  he  reigneth;"  that  is,  said 
he,  when  we  who  once  were  the  servants,  slaves  to 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  363 

the  law,  reign  with  ChHst.     *^A  fool  when  he  is 
filled  with  meat,"  which  he  interpreted  as  meaning, 
when  we  fools  are  filled  with  their  sort  of  heavenly 
food.     Perhaps  it  would  have  suited  as  well  had  he 
said  that  he  meant  himself,  when  his  gaping  admirers 
gave  him  a  good  dinner  for  talking  nonsense.     '^An 
odious  woman  when  she  is  married,'^  he  says,  was 
designed  to  represent  the  marriage  of  the  odious  sin- 
ner to  Christ;  and  "A  hand-maid,  when  she  is  heir  to 
her  mistress,"  was  to  mean  how  we  sinners  are  made 
heirs  of  God,  and  joint  heirs  with  Christ!!!  spiced 
with  their  mrf/recf  meaning  of  the  passage,  that  though 
the  devil  may  reign  in  our  hearts  on  earth,  we  may 
reign  with  him  in  heaven.     1  am  satisfied,  after  all 
these  instances  from  the  above  said  Mr.  Slopdash, 
respecting  his  method  of  interpreting  the  scriptures, 
he  will  be  quite  contented  if  I  suppress  others,  some 
of  them  being  even  indecent,  and  all  of  them  as  ab- 
surd and  preposterous  as  any  of  the  former.     And 
indeed  the  other  Mr.  Slopdash,  who  was  known  to 
Mr.  Lovegood,  soon  tried  his  patience  till  it  was 
quite  exhausted;  while  Mr.  Merry  man,  for  a  long 
time  attempted  to  convince  him  of  the  impropriety 
and  absurdity  of  such  interpretations  of  Scripture. 
But  as  there  is  a  certain  degree  of  pride  and  positi* 
vity  belonging  to  the  whole  of  that  tribe,  all  Mr. 
Merryman  got,  was  the  pity  of  Mr.  Slopdash,  who 
always  conceited  his  own  ignorance  was  superlative 
wisdom,  and  that  the  wisdom  of  others,  was  to  be 
imputed  to  their  ignorance. 

Through  the  sides  of  Mr.  Slopdash,  however,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Taplash,  minister  of  a  little,  gay,  gossiping 
town  in  that  neighbourhood,called  Clack,  would  make 
his  most  vehement  attacks  against  Mr.  Slapdash;  and 
indeed,  against  every  other  minister  who,  with  unaf- 
fected simplicity,  and  godly  sincerity,  preached  the 
gospel  to  the  consciences  of  his  hearers.     These  he 


364  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

would  charge  as  being  all  alike,  supposing  that  the 
follies  of  some  were  equally  imputable  to  all;  and 
though  he  was  a  man  of  no  great  consequence  or 
worth,  but  in  his  own  esteem,  yet  where  truths  are 
naturally  disliked,  any  sort  of  a  witness  will  be  rea- 
dily admitted  against  them. 

Elegance  of  composition,  and  a  genteel  delivery, 
were  all  that  Mr.  Taplash  could  admire,  which  he 
thought  were  wonderfully  accomplished  in  himself, 
while  he  was  dealing  with  all  possible  affectation,  his 
flimsy,  flippery,  unsentimental  harangues,  as  a  very 
acceptable  treat,  to  those  who  could  be  gratified  with 
empty  sounds,  and  a  mere  parade  of  words. 

The  Orator,  when  he  first  made  his  appearance, 
would  be  primmed  and  dressed  up  in  the  most  finished 
style:  not  a  hair  would  be  found  out  of  place  on  his 
empty  pate,  on  which  the  barber  had  been  exercising 
his  occupation  all  the  Sunday  morning,  and  powdered 
till  as  white  as  the  driven  snow.  Thus  elegantly 
decorated,  and  smelling  like  a  civet-cat,  through  an 
abundance  of  perfumery,  he  would  scent  the  air  as 
he  passed.  Then,  with  a  most  conceited  skip,  he 
would  step  into  the  pulpit,  as  though  stepping  out 
of  a  band-box;  and  here  he  had  not  only  to  display 
his  elegant  production,  but  his  elegant  self  also;  his 
delicate  white  hand,  exhibiting  his  diamond  ring, 
while  his  richly-scented  white  handkerchief  was  un- 
furled, and  managed  with  remarkable  dexterity  and 
art.  His  smelling-bottle  was  next  occasionally  pre- 
sented to  his  nose,  giving  different  opportunities  to 
display  his  sparkling  ring.  Thus  having  adjusted 
the  important  business  of  the  handkerchief  and  the 
smelling-bottle,  he  had  next  to  take  out  his  glass, 
that  he  might  reconnoitre  the  fair  part  of  his  audi- 
tory, with  whom  he  might  have  been  gallanting, 
and  entertaining  with  his  cheap  talk,  the  day  before: 
and  these,  as  soon  as  he  could  catch  their  eye,  he 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  365 

would  favour  with  a  simpering  look,  and  a  graceful 
nod. 

Then  next  to  his  devotions.  These  were  performed 
in  a  remarkably  gentleman-like  manner;  though  the 
best  of  it  was,  that  they  were  no  sooner  begun  than 
they  were  ended.  The  same  may  also  be  said  of  his 
sermons,  they  were  special  short,  fifteen  minutes  being 
the  full  length  of  the  sermon  of  a  fashionable  divine: 
and  this  he  rarelj^  exceeded:  while  the  ingredients  of 
all  his  compositions,  seemed  to  be  nothing  better 
than  flimsy  declamations,  and  religious  compliments. 
He  w^ould  be  talking  of  ^Hhe  reward  we  were  to 
receive  from  the  fair  hand  of  our  own  virtuous  con- 
duct, which,  at  a  very  easy  rate,  we  might  secure  to 
ourselves,  as  our  religion  by  no  means  secluded  us 
from  innocent  amusements:"  (doubtless  referring  to 
the  card-table,  the  ball-room,  the  theatre,  &c.) — 
"which  we  were  all  permitted  to  enjoy,  in  order 
that  we  might  return  to  the  service  of  our  Maker 
with  a  greater  relish  and  delight:  and  it  is  reported, 
that  he  once  actually  composed  a  prayer  for  a  reli- 
gious young  lady,  on  her  confirmation,  after  she  had 
discharged  her  godfathers  and  godmothers,  from  that 
vow  on  her  behalf;  ''to  renounce  the  pomps  and 
vanities  of  this  wicked  world,  and  all  the  sinful  lusts 
of  the  flesh!"  which  she  was  to  say  after  her  return 
from  these  exhibitions  of  vanity  and  pride. 

Mr.  Taplash  would  also,  at  times,  adorn  his  ha- 
rangues with  scraps  of  poetry,  principally  culled  out 
of  Shakspeare's  plays;  and  at  one  time,  after  a  very 
tasty  specimen  of  his  elocution,  in  which  he  had  been 
displaying  the  rich  repast  conscious  virtue  brought 
home  to  the  pious  mind,  he  thus  concluded,  with 
the  following  verse  out  of  Thomson: 

"Come  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  her  praise." 

The  orator  stood,  as  all-astonished  at  the  excellency 
VOL.  L— 32 


366  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

of  his  own  harangue;  gave  a  very  elegant  congee  to 
his  auditory,  and  then  most  gracefully  sat  down. 

But  the  circumstance  which  flattered  his  vanity, 
beyond  all  others,  was  that  of  his  being  appointed  as 
the  preacher  at  the  consecration  of  a  church,  to  which 
a  public  charity  was  connected;  and  on  which  occa- 
sion he  flourished  away  in  this  most  extraordinary 
manner: — 

"Such  is  the  foundation  of  a  temple  truly  Chris- 
tian. Let  us  gratify  the  mental  eye  with  a  transient 
survey  of  the  figurative  superstructure.  I  look  up 
with  admiration  atthebroadexpansivearch  of  charity ; 
the  massy  columns  of  truth;  the  graceful  capitals  of 
mercy,  gentleness,  and  compassion;  the  whole  com- 
pactly cemented  by  piety  and  philanthropy,  by  a 
cement  of  goodness  and  love,  intimately  blended  and 
tempered  in  a  perfect,  inseparable  amalgamation.  If 
it  be  asked  of  what  architectural  order  is  the  fabric.'' 
it  is  neither  the  Tuscan,  the  Doric,  the  Ionic,  nor  the 
Corinthian,  but  it  is  the  composite  Christian  order; 
more  beautiful  in  its  form,  and  more  durable  in  its 
materials,  than  the  most  celebrated  productions  of 
classic  antiquity,  modelled  in  the  polite  schools  of 
Athens  or  of  Rome ;  and  is  finished  with  a  grace  which 
they  could  only,  at  a  distant  interval,  faintly  and  im- 
perfectly conceive."* 

A  text  of  Scripture,  or  even  the  name  of  Christ, 
could  scarcely  ever  find  admission  into  the  sermons 
of  Mr.  Taplash.  In  one  of  his  fine  moral  harangues, 
descanting  upon  the  beauties  of  virtue,  aad  the  ex- 
cellencies of  a  virtuous  life,  he  thus  addressed  his 
auditory,  in  a  sentiment  he  had  gathered  from  a 
heathen    orator:    "Virtue,  thou    fairest  of    names, 

*  Such  was  the  fanciful  nonsense  that  appeared  in  print 
from  the  pen  of  a  very  learned  man,  about  this  time,  but  I 
forbear  to  mention  names. 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  367 

whose  enchanting  power  can  sooth  even  the  savage 
breast!  Virtue,  1  say,  couldst  thou  come  down, 
dressed  in  human  shaj3e,  and  in  all  thy  beauteous 
array,  surely  thy  godlike  appearance  would  win  the 
foulest  heart,  and  all  the  world  would  at  once  adore 
thee  as  a  goddess  supremely  blessed,  and  in  them- 
selves also,  not  less  supremely  blessed,  wjien  graced 
with  the  influences  of  thy  most  tender  and  transport- 
ing charms.  0!  thou  goddess,  divinely  glorious, 
descend,  and  let  us  see  thy  lovely  features,  that  we 
may  all  adore!" 

At  once  the  buzz  of  universal  applause  was  heard 
throughout  the  congregation,  as  a  most  grateful  in- 
cense, offered  up  to  feast  the  pride  and  vanity  of  the 
preacher,  by  way  of  return,  for  the  flattery  of  the 
same  vile  passions,  he  had  so  plentifully  bestowed 
on  his  hearers.  But  soon  afterwards,  this  very  fine 
speech,  delivered  with  such  elegance,  unfortu- 
nately met  with  a  tqrrible  mishap;  for  a  gentleman 
of  property  asked  Mr.  Taplash  to  lend  his  pulpit  to 
old  Mr.  Blunt,  a  worthy  clergyman  inthat  neighbour- 
hood, which  he  could  not  well  refuse,  though  much 
against  the  grain.  He,  having  been  informed  of  this 
fine  speech,  quoted  it  almost  verbatim,  as  it  was  de- 
livered, then  added,  "Virtue  did  once  descend  in 
human  form,  dressed  in  the  person  of  God,  our  holy 
Redeemer,  and  adorned  in  the  perfection  of  excel- 
lence. And  did  the  world  admire  him  for  the  beau- 
ties of  holiness,  or  adore  him  for  his  lovely  charms? 
Just  the  reverse.  Was  he  not  hated  because  he  was 
lovely?  And  was  not  the  cry  against  him,  "  Away 
with  him,  crucify  him,  crucify  him?"  And  did  they 
cease  their  vindictive  cry  till  they  had  put  him  to 
death,  even  the  ignominious  death  of  the  cross?" 
Never  was  Mr.  Taplash's  smelling-bottle  so  much 
needed  as  upon  this  occasion  ;  and  he  used  it  very 
plentifully,  while  his  pretty  countenance  at  once  red^ 


368  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

dened  like  the  rose  ;  nor  could  the  auditory  tell  what 
they  could  think  of  themselves,  that  they  could  be 
so  led  away  by  the  weak  harangues  of  Mr.  Taplash, 
which  were  so  easily  refuted  by  the  sound  sense  of 
Mr.  Blunt* 

If  ever  Mr.  Taplash  appeared  a  little  more  than 
commonly  warmed  and  animated,  it  was  when  he 
was  preaching  against  fanatics  and  modern  enthusi- 
asts. On  these  occasions,  he  would  be  always  des- 
canting on  the  powers  of  reason,  which  he  would 
dress  up  as  another  of  his  goddesses;  that  the  Al- 
mighty had  given  her  sufficient  powers  for  the  re- 
formation of  mankind;  or  if  she  should  fail,  con- 
science would  be  called  in  to  lend  her  aid,  whom  he 
would  call  "the  sacred  monitor  of  the  Deity — the 
vicegerent  of  the  Almighty  in  the  human  bosom — the 
mirror  of  merit,  from  whence  we  receive  the  con- 
scious reward  of  every  virtuous  action."  Such  would 
be  some  of  his  fulsome  compliments  to  the  corrupted 
heart  of  man,  and  such  was  the  style  of  this  wretched 
fribble  in  a  cassock. 

And  now  the  reader  shall  be  left  to  determine 
whether  of  the  two  is  the  more  disgusting;  the  ig- 
norance and  vulgarity  of  Mr.  Slopdash,  or  the  con- 
ceitedness,  pedantry,  and  puppyism  of  the  genteel 
and  elegant  Mr.  Taplash.  Having  thus  presented 
these  characters  before  the  reader,  the  dialogue  shall 
be  now  continued,  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  Love- 
good. 

IVorthy.  Well,  Mr.  Merryman,  as  Mr.  Lovegood 
is  withdrawn,  you  may  speak  with  the  more  freedom. 
How  that  good  man  hates  praise,  though  no  person 
upon  earth  so  well  deserves  it! 

Merryman.  Why,  sir,  the  very  style  in  which  he 

*  What  is  here  related  actually  took  place  at  Edinburgh, 
not  many  years  ago. 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  369 

mentioned  his  text  at  the  visitation,  struck  me  not  a 
little.  You  know  in  what  a  ^rave  and  solemn  manner 
he  always  reads  the  word  of  God.  I  remember  the 
text,  "Watch  thou  in  all  things;  do  the  work  of  an 
evangelist;  make  full  proof  of  thy  ministry."  On 
that  occasion,  he  wisely  judged  it  might  be  most  ad- 
visable to  read  his  sermon;  though  I  always  like 
him  best  when  he  preaches  from  the  fulness  of  his 
own  heart;  but  he  knew  that  extempore  sermons  are 
sure  to  give  offence  to  the  clergy,  especially  in  their 
present  state.  That  sermon  he  afterwards  lent  me 
for  my  private  perusal;  and  what  a  sermon  it  was! 
What  a  contrast  he  displayed  between  the  carnal 
ministers  of  the  world,  who  neither  know  their  Lord's 
voice,  nor  seek  to  know  it,  and  the  spiritual  and  faith- 
ful ministers  of  the  gospel,  as  delineated  in  the  word 
of  God! 

Wor.  Directly  as  I  began  to  read  my  Bible,  I  was 
at  once  convinced,  that  the  spirit  and  temper  of  real 
Christianity,  were  as  opposite  to  the  spirit  of  the 
world,  as  light  is  to  darkness.  And  when  that  poor, 
dissipated  creature.  Lord  Rakish,  gave  me  a  call  one 
morning,  and  happened  to  find  Mr.  Lovegood  with 
me,  I  remember  his  grand  objection  against  the  Bible 
was,  that  it  was  impossible  for  human  nature  to  come 
up  to  it.  I  well  recollect  Mr.  Lovegood's  admirable 
answer:  "So  your  lordship  settles  the  matter,  not  by 
force  of  argument,  but  from,  what  you  feel  in  your- 
self: the  Bible  must  be  wrong  because  you  feel 
wrong."  Immediately  Lord  Rakish  said,  "Why, 
do  you  not  think  I  should  like  to  believe  the  Bible 
if  I  could,  as  well  as  yourself?"  Mr.  Lovegood  di- 
rectly answered,  "Pardon  me,  my  Lord,  if  I  deny  it; 
you  and  thousands  more  besides,  love  sin  too  well  to 
believe  the  Bible." 

Mer.  What  an  excellent  remark!  But  this  was 
nearly  the  same  application  he  made  in  his  visita- 
32* 


370  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

tion  sermon.     That  it  was  utterly  impossible  the 
carnal  world  could  love  the  holiness  and  spirituality 
which  existed  in  the  real  Christian;  as  by  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  conduct,  he  appeared  a  living  witness 
against  them   who   "have  a  name  to  live  and  are 
dead;"  while  all  Christ's  real  disciples  "are  not  of 
the  world,  for  that  God  hath  chosen  them  out  of  the 
world,  therefore  the  world  hateth  them."     That  con- 
sequently, as  far  as  the  real  ministers  of  Christ  follow 
the  example  of  their  holy  Master,  in  life  and  doc- 
trine,  they  also    must   suffer   the   reproach   of  the 
world   with   their  suffering  Redeemer.      And,  that 
therefore,  his  first  apostles  positively  declared,  "that 
all  they  who  live  godly  in  Christ  Jesus,  shall  suffer 
persecution;"  and  that  "living  godly  in  Christ  Jesus," 
would  ever  draw  down  odium  and  persecution,  at 
least  of  the  tongue,  (however,  through  divine  provi- 
dence, religion  was  protected  by  law,)  where  its  real 
influences  were  not  established  in  the  heart;  and  that 
we  should  find  it  so,  if  we  made  full  proof  of  our  mi- 
nistry, or  attended  according  to  the  directions  given 
in  the  ordination  office.     "To  be  messengers,  watch- 
men, and  stewards  of  the  Lord;  to  teach  and  pre- 
monish,  to  feed  and  provide  for  the  Lord's  family; 
to  seek  Christ's  sheep  who  are  dispersed  abroad;  and 
for  his  children,  who  are  in  the  midst  of  this  naughty 
world,  that  they  may  be  saved  through  Christ,  for 
ever;"  and  after  he  had  given  a  large  quotation  from 
that  most  excellent  exhortation,  I  well  remember  the 
contemptuous  sneer  that  passed  on  that  occasion,  be- 
tween Mr.  Spiteful  and  old  Rector  Guzzle. 

Wor.  No  wonder  at  their  sneers.  We  all  know 
the  spirit  and  temper  of  Mr.  Spiteful:  and  as  for 
Rector  Guzzle,  I  never  heard  him  famed  for  any 
thing,  but  that  he  was  a  greater  eater,  and  harder 
drinker  than  any  man  about  the  country.  But  I 
thought,  after  I  had  read  the  sermon,  Mr.  Lovegood 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  371 

was  the  most  striking  on  that  passage,  "Do  the  work 
of  an  evangelist." 

JIfer.  Indeed,  sir,  I  had  no  conception  at  first  that 
there  could  be  any  other  evangelists  than  the  writers 
of  the  four  Gospels. 

Wor.  But  he  gave  us  all  to  understand,  that  the 
work  of  an  evangelist,  is  to  spread  the  Gospel.  And 
in  what  a  full  and  concise  manner  he  described  the 
leading  sentiments  of  the  Gospel  preacher! 

Mer.  I  remember  well  his  weighty  observations 
on  the  importance  of  the  ministry;  and  I  felt  every 
word  as  against  myself,  for  my  presumption  and 
wickedness,  in  taking  upon  me  such  an  office,  and 
from  such  motives,  while  I  was  so  perfectly  careless; 
living  like  a  downright  heathen,  and  yet  daring  to 
assume  the  character  of  the  minister  of  Christ.  What 
strong  expressions  he  made  use  of,  when  calculating 
the  infinite  value  of  but  one  immortal  spirit!  That 
"all  the  vast  revolutions  of  kingdoms  and  empires, 
were  but  for  a  time;  the  wide-extended  splendour  of 
the  greatest  of  them,  as  once  they  existed,  is  now  no 
more:  not  so  the  soul  of  the  meanest  individual:  be- 
ing of  infinite  duration,  it  is  of  infinite  worth;"  urging 
from  this,  that  our  doctrine  should  be  the  most  pure, 
our  example  the  most  holy,  and  our  diligence  the 
most  assiduous  and  persevering. 

Wor.  Do  you  recollect  how  he  urged  that  part  of 
the  text,  "Watch  thou  in  all  things?" 

Mer.  Yes,  I  recollect  enough  to  have  convinced 
me,  and  many  others,  if  they  could  have  attended  to 
it,  that  our  careless  lives,  and  sacred  office,  were  the 
greatest  contradiction  to  each  other,  and  in  entire 
opposition  to  the  word  of  God,  which  directs  us  to 
"be  instant  in  season,  and  out  of  season;"  to  "make 
full  proof  of  our  ministry;"  in  short,  "to  spend  and 
be  spent  for  Jesus  Christ;"  while  at  the  same  time, 
the  negligence  of  the  generality  of  us,  was  so  evident 


37i^  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

and  notorious.  But  what  striking  observations  he 
made  on  those  words,  "Endure  afflictions!"  He  at 
once  met  the  objection  he  supposed  would  be  made, 
that  this  part  of  the  text  must  be  confined  to  primi- 
tive times  only;  and  that  now  the  profession  of  Chris- 
tianity, since  its  establishment,  was  "attended  with 
ease  and  honour."*  But  I  remember  with  what  so- 
lemnity, he  asked  the  question,  "Is  the  carnal  mind 
otherwise  now,  than  it  was  then, — Enmity  against 
God?  Could  age  cure  the  diseases  of  the  human 
heart,  which  is  described  as  being  "deceitful  above 
all  things,  and  desperately  wicked?"  No  wonder, 
therefore,  if  in  every  age  we  exemplified  the  justice 
of  the  charge,  that  we  are  haters  of  God;  and  what 
could  be  expected  from  such,  but  that  they  should  be 
haters  of  the  godly?  I  remember  lie  farther  pressed  the 
point,  by  first  quoting  the  beatitudes,  as  in  the  fifth 
of  Matthew;  observing  what  a  fine  epitome  it  was  of 
the  mind  of  Christ,  as  it  dwells  in  the  heart  of  every 
true  believer.  That  the  real  Christian  was  poor  in 
spirit;  and  that  such  only  are  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven;  that  he  was  a  holy  mourner,  under  a  sense  of 
sin;  and  that  such  alone  should  be  comforted;  that 
he  is  found  among  the  meek,  and  that  these  only 
inherit  the  earth,  and  heaven  too:  that  they  hungered 
and  thirsted  after  righteousness,  or  rather  after  a  holy 
conformity  to  the  will  of  God:  that  he  w^as  merciful; 
therefore  should  obtain  mercy:  that  he  was  pure  in 
heart;  therefore  should  see  God :  that  he  was  a  peace- 
maker, and  therefore  should  be  numbered  among  the 

*  An  expression  of  the  late  Bishop  Warburton,  when  in 
the  exertion  of  his  zeal  against  modern  enthusiasts.  Though 
a  Bishop  of  a  church  which  so  repeatedly  insists  on  divine 
influences,  yet,  like  many  others,  he  entirely  denied  all  divine 
influences  whatever;  thus  he  completely  reduced  Christianity 
to  a  system  of  deism,  or  of  natural  religion,  as  it  is  called, 
whilehe  pretended  to  vindicate  her  sacred  cause. 


DIALOGUE  XIX. 


373 


children  of  God.  He  then  made  the  comparison  be- 
tween the  hio:;h  tipirituality  which  belongs  to  the  real 
disciples  of  Christ,  and  the  poor,  cold  morality  so 
much  talked  of,  though,  after  all,  so  little  practised 
among  the  people  of  the  world.  Then  he  mentioned 
avarietyof  passages  of  the  same  import  and  concluded 
with  this  text:  "whatsoever  ye  do,  in  word  and  deed, 
do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  giving  thanks 
to  God  and  the  Father  by  him.'^ 

Mer.  Till  that  hour,  I  never  had  the  most  distant 
conception  what  was  meant  by  gospel  holiness,  any 
more  than  the  horse  I  rode^on  to  the  visitation.  But 
I  am  sure  all  that  he  spoke  respecting  the  impurity 
and  unholiness  of  mankind  in  general,  was  true,  and 
indeed,  of  all  as  in  a  state  of  nature.  I  have  already 
seen  a  great  deal  too  much,  though  yet  so  young;  and 
I  have  had  proof  enough,  that  what  the  Bible  says  is 
true, "that  the  whole  vvorld  lieth  in  the  wicked  one." 
Almost  all  I  have  ever  met  with,  have  been  nearly 
of  the  same  stamp,  following  what  their  corrupted 
hearts  evidently  liked  best;  "the  lust  of  the  flesh, 
the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life."  I  am 
sure  all  these  were  my  delights,  till  I  heard  Mr. 
Lovegood. 

TFor.  But  1  remember,  he  has  admirably  showed 
how  the  evangelist,  or  evangelical  minister,  had  also 
to  expatiate  on  the  glories  of  the  Gospel,  as  manifested 
in  our  redemption  by  the  blood  of  Christ,  our  accept- 
ance in  his  righteousness,  and  the  sanctification  of 
our  natures,  by  the  operation  of  the  Divine  Spirit. 
I  think  our  excellent  friend  crowded  too  many  ideas 
into  the  same  subject;  but  no  wonder,  as  it  was  most 
evidently  his  design,  to  take  that  opportunity,  to 
give  the  most  comprehensive  view  of  matters  in  his 
power.  What  he  delivered,  contained  sufficient  sub'> 
stance  for  many  a  large  volume. 


374  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Mer.  I  really  was  no  critic,  while  he  was  pouring 
down  the  substance  of  such  volumes  of  divinity  on 
my  poor  ignorant  head,  and  wicked  heart;  yet  no- 
thing astonished  me  so  much  as  my  ignorance,  ex- 
cepting my  presumption,  while  he  took  the  oppor- 
tunity, during  the  course  of  his  sermon,  to  quote  a 
variety  of  awful  passages,  against  such  a  set  of  faith- 
less hirelings.  He  produced  several  of  them  from 
the  34th  of  Ezekiel,  whicii  I  never  forgot  from  that 
hour  to  this.  "Wo  be  to  the  shepherds  of  Israel, 
tiiat  feed  themselves.  Should  not  the  shepherds  feed 
the  flock?  The  diseased  have  ye  not  strengthened, 
neither  have  ye  healed  that  which  was  sick;  neither 
have  ye  bound  up  that  which  was  broken;  neither 
have  ye  brought  again  that  which  was  driven  away; 
neither  have  ye  sought  that  which  w^as  lost;  but  with 
force  and  with  cruelty  have  ye  ruled  them,  and  they 
were  scattered  because  there  is  no  shepherd,  and 
they  became  meat  for  all  the  beasts  of  the  field,  when 
they  were  scattered  and  none  did  search  and  seek 
after  them.  Therefore,  thus  saith  the  Lord  God,  Be- 
hold, I  am  against  the  shepherds,  and  will  require 
my  flock  at  their  hands,  and  cause  them  to  cease 
from  feeding  the  flock;  neither  shall  the  shepherds 
feed  themselves  any  more,  for  I  will  deliver  my  flock 
from  their  mouth,  that  they  may  not  be  meat  for 
them."  I  remember  at  the  same  time,  he  introduced 
another  passage  from  the  same  Prophet,  as  belonging 
to  the  watchmen  of  Israel:  "When  I  say  to  the 
wicked,  Thou  shalt  surely  die,  and  thou  givest  him 
no  warning,  nor  speakest  to  warn  the  wicked  from 
his  wicked  way,  to  save  his  life;  the  same  wicked 
man  shall  die  in  his  iniquity,  but  his  blood  will  I  re- 
quire at  thine  hand." 

Wo7\  Yes,  and  there  is  another  passage,  which  I 
remember  to  have  read  in  his  wsermon,  and  which  he 
quoted  from  Isaiah.     "His  watchmen  are  blind;  they 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  375 

are  all  ignorant,  they  are  all  dumb  dogs,  they  cannot 
bark;  sleeping,  lying  down,  loving  to  slumber.  Yea, 
they  are  greedy  dogs,  which  can  never  have  enough: 
and  they  are  shepherds  that  cannot  understand;  they 
all  look  to  their  own  way,  every  one  for  his  own 
gain  from  his  quarter." 

Me7\  Yes,  and  how  he  set  forth  at  the  same  time 
the  dreadful  words  pronounced  by  our  Lord,  against 
the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  the  false  teachers  of  the 
day,  against  all  such  "evil  men  and  seducers,  who 
are  sure  to  wax  worse  and  worse';"  and  who  run 
counter  to  the  express  command  of  God.  "We 
preach  not  ourselves,  but  Christ  .lesus  the  Lord,  and 
ourselves  your  servants,  for  Jesus'  sake."  And  I 
weir  recollect  what  solemn  countenances  appeared 
among  the  laity,  though  afterwards  he  was  so  plen- 
tifully reprobated  among  some  of  the  clergy,  for 
having  exposed  them  in  such  a  manner  before  all 
the  people. 

Wor.  He  expose  them!  It  had  never  been  in  the 
power  of  Mr.  Lovegood,  or  any  one  else,  to  have 
exposed  the  clergy  by  such  expressions,  if  they  did 
not  expose  themselves  by  their  improper  conduct. 
It  was,  however,  enough  to  make  the  ears  of  them 
that  heard  it  to  tingle. 

Mer.  But  the  observation  he  made  on  the  last 
clause  of  his  text,  struck  me,  if  possible,  more  for- 
cibly than  any  of  the  former.  Cannot  you  remem- 
ber, sirj  what  weighty  remarks  he  made  on  that  pas- 
sage in  the  text,  "  Make  full  proof  of  thy  ministry;" 
how  admirably  he  described  the  important  duties  of 
the  ministerial  office,  and  that  we  were  commanded  to 
"  give  ourselves  wholly  to  it,  that  our  profiting  might 
appear  unto  all  men?"  Then  he  asked  how  the  man 
of  fashion,  as  he  is  called,  who  was  only  known  to 
be  a  minister  by  the  colour  of  his  coat;  the  covetous 
and  voluptuous,  the  negligent,  and  the  proud,  could 


376  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

dare  to  register  themselves  among  the  ministers  of 
a  crucified  Redeemer.  And  that  when  it  was  the 
bounden  duty  of  ever}^  private  Christian,  "to  give 
all  diligence  to  make  his  calling  and  election  sure," 
and  even  ''to  work  out  his  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling,"  what  must  the  people  think,  when  they 
see  these  ministers  so  much  the  reverse  of  what  the}' 
themselves  are  commanded  to  be,  according  to  the 
common  standard  of  Christianity?"  Then  he  quoted 
that  passage  from  St.  Peter,  "  Ye  are  a  chosen  gene- 
ration, a  royal  priesthood,  a  holy  nation,  a  peculiar 
people;  that  ye  should  show  forth  the  praises  of  him 
who  hath  called  you  out  of  darkness  into  his  mar- 
vellous light."  I  think  I  now  see  him  as  he  was 
then  in  the  pulpit;  he  stopped,  and  made  a  solemn 
pause,  then  added:  "Holy  brethren,  such  we  are  in 
office,  and  such  we  should  be  before  God  and  man; 
'  what  manner  of  persons  ought  we  then  to  be,  in  all 
holy  conversation  and  godliness,'  to  be  the  leaders 
and  instructers  of  a  people,  so  sacred  in  themselves, 
and  so  highly  devoted  to  God." 

Wor.  1  don't  remember  reading  that  passage  in 
the  sermon,  but  he  told  me,  while  he  was  delivering 
it,  some  texts  from  the  Scriptures  struck  him  so  for- 
cibly, that  he  introduced  them,  and  gave  a  short  com- 
ment upon  them;  and  this  made  him  preach  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  longer  than  he  designed. 

Mer.  Yes,  I  heard  enough  of  the  length  of  his 
sermon,  though  I  bless  God  it  was  not  long  to  me. 
The  whole  of  it  was  but  just  an  hour.  But  the  ridi- 
cule of  almost  all  the  clergy,  both  as  it  respected  the 
length  of  his  sermon,  and  the  holy  warmth  with 
which  it  was  delivered,  shocked  me  exceedingly. 

JVor.  Ah,  sir,  had  they  been  at  a  play-house,  in- 
stead of  a  Church,  neither  the  length  of  the  play,  nor 
the  pathos  of  the  actors,  would  have  given  them  the 
least  oflfence.    The  actor  is  allowed  to  represent  ima- 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  377 

glnary  things  as  though  they  were  real;  while  the 
minister  of  the  truths  of  God,  is  to  be  stigmatized  as 
a  madman,  unless  he  represents  real  things  as  though 
they  were  imaginary* 

Mer.  Well,  sir,  and  I  do  not  suppose  you  thought 
your  worth}^  minister  to  blame,  in  going  a  little  be- 
yond the  limits  he  designed,  in  making  some  addi- 
tions to  the  written  sermon  he  composed  for  the 
visitation.  For  though  I  admire  the  tenderness  of 
his  mind,  not  to  give  offence  when  it  possibly  can  be 
avoided,  by  writing  his  sermon,  as  the  truths  he  then 
delivered  would  be  deemed  sufficiently  offensive 
among  those  who  heard  them;  yet  I  cannot  conceive 
why  speaking  extempore  from  the  pulpit,  should  give 
more  offence  than  at  the  bar,  or  in  the  senate,  or  in 
any  other  public  assembly. 

Wor.  If  indeed  it  be  required  of  a  minister  that 
he  should  be  "apt  to  teach,"  why  should  we  not 
expect  at  least  as  much  from  a  public  pleader  in  the 
cause  of  religion,  as  a  public  pleader  at  the  bar?  The 
offerfte,  therefore,  taken  at  what  is  called  extempore 
preaching,  I  suppose  is  principally  found  to  be  among 
those  who  are  exposed  thereby,  for  undertaking  an 
office  they  are  so  iiJ-qualified  to  fill;  though  I  would 
speak  with  caution,  as  I  by  no  means  suppose,  that 
every  minister  is  altogether  unfit  for  his  office,  who 
cannot  speak  extempore. 

Mer,  Well,  I  found  I  was  in  a  measure  obliged  to 
commence  an  extempore  preacher,  before  ever  I  de- 
signed it;  for  as  soon  as  I  became  serious,  none  of  my 
old  sermons  would  do  for  me  any  longer;  nor  were 
there  any  to  be  bought  that  would  afterwards  suit 
my  taste:  and  my  mind  was  so  occupied,  after  hear- 
ing Mr.  Lovegood,  that  I  was  quite  unfit  to  sit  down 
to  compose  any  thing  like  a  regular  sermon ;  so  having 
written  some  thoughts  as  they  occurred  to  my  mind, 

VOL.  I.— 33 


378  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

I  explained  them  as  well  as  I  could  from  my  notes, 
according  to  the  feelings  of  my  heart. 

Wor.  But  what  was  the  effect  of  the  visitation  ser- 
mon, after  you  came  from  church,  and  attended  with 
your  brethren  at  the  dinner? 

J\Ier,  Sir,  I  was  exceedingly  shocked  at  the  ppofane 
ridicule  which  took  place  against  Mr.  Lovegood  al- 
most from  every  quarter;  and  some  of  them  came 
up  to  me,  supposing  that  I  should  join  with  them; 
but  I  was  so  ashamed  of  myself  that  I  turned  my 
head  another  way  and  dropped  a  tear;  while  Mr. 
Lovegood,  Mr.  Godliman,  and  poor  old  Mr.  Meek, 
collected  together  in  one  corner  of  the  room  to  keep 
each  other  in  countenance.    I  was  heartily  glad,  how- 
ever, to  see  in  the  midst  of  all  his  contempt,  old  Dr. 
Orderly,  and  Mr.  Sedate  his  curate,  come  up  to  him, 
and  shake  him  by  the  hand,  and  thank  him  for  his 
sermon.     Observing,  that,  though  perhaps  he  could 
not  entirely  agree  with  him  in  all  points  of  divinity; 
yet  that  he  had  shown  a  necessary  and  well-timed 
zeal  against  the  loose  and  improper  conduct  o#  too 
many  of  their  brethren.     This  gave  me  encourage- 
ment to  follow  his  example.     And  when  I  told  him, 
that  one  of  the  most  dissipated  and  negligent  of  the 
same  order  begged  to  follow  the  doctor's  example, 
in  thanking  him,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  for 
the  just  rebuke  I  had  received  from  his  lips;  and 
prayed  that  God  would  give  me  grace  to  remember 
it  to  my  dying  moments,  a  tear  began  starting  from 
my  eye,  which  I  could  not  suppress,  while  Mr.  Love- 
good, Mr.  Godliman,  and   Mr.  Meek  had  enough  to 
do  to  stifle  the  feelings  of  their  minds  at  the  same 
time.      As  to  Mr.  Lovegood,  he  was  much   more 
overcome  than  myself:  we  went  and  stood  together 
for  a  short  time,  by  a  window  in  the  room,  and  very 
little  could  either  of  us  say,  while  we  mingled  the 
sympathetic  tear  with  each  other,  as  subsisting  be- 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  379 

tween  those  who  feel  the  joy  of  angels,  when  one 
poor  sinner  is  brought  to  repentance  unto  life.  A 
repentance  which  for  the  first  time,  I  trust  I  then 
began  to  feel. 

Wor.  Had  our  invaluable  friend  preached  nothing 
better  than  a  sort  of  cold,  formal,  half-way  sermon, 
he  had  not  given  half  the  offence,  nor  yet  would  he 
have  done  half  the  good :  truth  can  best  defend  it- 
self without  the  assistance  of  our  low  cunning,  in 
attempting  to  make  it  palatable  to  the  carnal  mind. 
But  the  Bishop,  it  seems,  was  quite  as  much  pleased 
with  his  sermon  as  Dr.  Orderly. 

Mcr.  I  was  very  glad  the  Bishop  took  so  much 
notice  of  him,  though  1  heard  that  Rector  Guzzle, 
and  Mr.  Toper,  his  curate,  and  Rector  Fillpot,  who 
sat  close  together,  talking  about  nothing  but  good 
eating  and  drinking,  afterwards  did  all  they  could  to 
prejudice  his  lordship  against  him.  It  is  reported 
when  Rector  Guzzle  said,  "  You  see,  my  lord,  these 
modern  preachers  are  all  for  grace:"  the  bishop  re- 
plied, "  It  is  to  be  lamnnted  that  the  clergy,  in  gene- 
ral, have  not  more  of  that  grace  exhibited  in  their 
lives  and  conduct,  which  Mr.  Lovegood  has  so  well 
recommended  to  their  notice."  Though  I  believe 
he  also  agreed  with  Dr.  Orderly,  (who  is  much  re- 
spected by  the  Bishop,  and  by  every  one  else  who 
knows  him,)  that  Mr.  Lovegood  rather  went  a  little 
too  far. 

PFor.  Well,  I  confess  I  cannot  see  the  good  of  that 
cold  moderation  which  some  admire.  When  the 
cause  is  of  God,  we  cannot  be  too  zealous  in  pro- 
moting it. 

Mer.  But  zeal  in  such  a  cause,  is  sure  to  be  charged 
as  being  the  ejQTect  of  madness.  I  heard  of  a  near 
relation  of  mine,  who  has  some  preferment  in  Ire- 
land, and  who,  but  a  little  time  ago,  was  quite  as 
dissipated  as  myself,  and  is  now  as  zealous  for  the 


380  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

cause  of  God,  as  he  once  was  for  the  cause  of  vanity 
and  nonsense;  when  he  was  accused  by  one  of  his 
"false  brethren''  to  the  bishop,  as  not  only  being 
mad  himself,  but  that  he  had  bitten  others  of  the 
clergy  also;  received  for  answer,  that  if  that  was 
madness,  he  hoped  he  would  go  on  till  he  had  bitten 
every  clergyman  in  his  diocess. 

Wor.  1  rather  wonder,  that  a  great  variety  of  ob- 
jectors did  not  enter  the  list  against  Mr.  Lovegood's 
faithful  testimon}'  on  this  occasion. 

Mer.  Oh,  sir!  there  was  Mr.  Flippant,  a  young 
stripling  just  in  orders;  but  he  puts  me  too  much  in 
mind  of  myself;  how  he  went  skipping  and  prating 
about  the  room  against  Mr.  Lovegood's  sermon.  He 
came  and  asked  me,  among  others,  if  I  had  ever  heard 
such  a  ranting  fool  before?  I  had  sufficient  courage 
to  answer:  "Oh,  sir!  I  fear  the  charge  of  being 
ranting  fools,  may  be  more  justly  urged  against  us 
for  our  wickedness,  than  against  Mr.  Lovegood  for 
his  preaching. 

Mrs.  Wor.  It  is  of  very  little  consequence  what 
such  empty  chaps  have  to  say:  but  I  suppose  af- 
ter this  you  soon  became  intimate  with  Mr.  Love- 
good. 

Mer.  Madam,  I  could  not  rest,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, till  I  had  an  interview  with  him.  Directly 
therefore,  as  he  moved  from  the  dinner,  I  followed 
him ;  my  heart  was  so  full  that  almost  every  word  I 
spoke  to  him  was  intermixed  with  tears  of  contrition 
and  remorse:  while  he,  with  the  greatest  affection, 
began  to  pour  into  my  wounded  conscience  all  the 
consolatory  promises  of  the  Gospel;  observing,  what 
a  great  mercy  it  was  that  I  was  now  convinced  of 
the  folly  and  evil  of  my  past  life,  and  what  a  blessing 
this  might  prove  to  hundreds  besides,  if,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  I  continued  in  the  same  mind.  When  we 
parted,  Mr.  Lovegood  affectionately  invited  me  to  see 


^  *  DIALOGUE  XIX.  381 

him.  As  it  unfortunately  happened,  1  was  engaged 
on  a  visit  to  Mr.  Bluster,  at  Revel-Hall;  Mr.  Love- 
good  advised  me  to  send  my  excuse,  as  I  could  now 
say,  I  was  engaged  on  some  concerns,  which  de- 
manded my  particular  attention. — So  the  time  I 
meant  for  Mr.  Bluster,  I  passed  with  Mr.  Lovegood, 

TVor.  It  proved  a  very  favourable  event,  that  im- 
mediately as  you  found  your  need  of  an  instructer, 
you  at  once  had  one  at  hand,  so  excellently  well  cal- 
culated for  your  purpose. 

Mer.  Indeed,  sir,  it  was.  For  you  must  think  what 
a  situation  I  was  in,  when  just  emerging  from  my 
ignorance,  a  mere  babe  in  Christ,  and  in  spiritual 
knowledge,  I  found  that  I  had  to  fill  the  place  of  a 
Father  in  divine  knowledge;  for  such  fathers,  1  ap- 
prehend, are  the  only  fit  instructers  of  the  children 
of  God.* 

Wo7\  I  fear  there  were  very  few  who  could  pro- 
perly be  called  the  children  of  God,  who  needed  your 
instruction  in  that  parish,  so  that  the  difficulty  could 
not  be  very  considerable,  while  you  had  to  instruct 
others  still  more  ignorant  than  yourself. 

JVIer.  True,  sir.  But  then  I  was  perfectly  ignorant 
how  I  was  to  set  about  that  low  office  of  a  spiritual 
instructer.  But  by  passing  the  two  days  I  designed 
for  Mr.  Bluster,  with  Mr.  Lovegood,  he  gave  me  a  clue 

*  It  is  probable  that  on  this  supposition  the  fears  of  Tho- 
mas Newman  were  excited,  in  Dialogue  the  6th,  lest  Mr. 
Lovegood  should  be  promoted  from  the  vicarage  of  Brook- 
field  to  the  Archbishopric  of  Canterbury,  judging  very  right- 
ly how  well  he  deserved,  not  only  the  title  of  the  right  re- 
verend, but  even  the  most  reverend  Father  in  God,  both  from 
the  rich  experience  of  the  Gospel  on  his  own  heart,  and  having 
also  so  many  around  him,  who  were  his  spiritual  children, 
and  over  whom  he  acted  in  a  manner  so  fatherly  and  so  wise. 
Oh  !  that  a  Mr.  Lovegood,  independent  of  every  political  prin- 
ciple, may  never  be  wanting  to  fill  each  vacant  bishopric  in 
our  land. 

33* 


383  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES.  »^ 

for  obtaining  spiritual  knowledge,  which  afterwards 
proved  a  wonderful  advantage  to  me.  He  particu- 
larly advised  me  to  read  the  first  book  of  Homilies; 
to  employ  my  time  in  modernizing  the  language,  and 
then  read  them  over  as  sermons,  to  my  congregation. 

fVo7\  Did  you  take  the  advice  ? 
Mer.  Sir,  I  have  before  told  you  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  myself,  and  my  ignorance,  directly  as  I 
began  to  examine  myself  by  the  new  views  which 
had  been  brought  to  my  mind.  And  though  I  found 
the  book  of  Homilies  exceedingly  instructive,  and 
though  I  have  loved  the  church  of  England  ever  since, 
as  in  this  land  she  is  certainly  the  pillar  and  ground 
of  truth  f  yet  I  rather  chose  to  follow  that  part  of 
Mr.  Lovegood's  advice,  to  attempt  some  instructive 
hints,  as  I  read  the  lessons  appointed  for  the  public 
service,  and  when  I  got  into  the  pulpit,  I  have  before 
told  you  how  I  stammered  out  the  truth  as  well  as  I 
could. 

Wbr.  I  should  suppose  this  change  wrought  on 
your  heart,  was  not  a  greater  blessing  to  yourself, 
than  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  all  the  people  at 
Sandover. 

Mer.  I  bless  God,  many  of  my  parishioners  were 
not  less  affected  than  myself,  when  I  began  to  tell 
them  all,  how  grieved  I  was  that  I  had  been  leading 
them  wrong,  both  by  my  example  and  doctrine;  and 
that  now  I  hoped  in  God,  that  I  should  preach  them 
better  doctrine,  and  show  them  a  better  example; 

*  Mr.  Merryman  might  not  suppose  from  that  observation, 
that  no  blemishes  could  be  found  which  vindicated  the  con- 
duct  of  others  in  their  conscientious  dissent  from  the  estab- 
lished church,  though  he  laments  that  there  are  any  such  dis- 
senters to  be  found,  as  blame  Mr.  Merryman  and  others,  for 
their  conscientious  conformity  to  a  church,  notwithstanding 
some  defects,  whose  liturgy  is  so  evangelical,  and  whose  doc- 
trines are  so  sound. 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  383 

and  while  I  was  thus  talking  to  the  people,  it  is 
amazing  how  poor  Sam  Resolute,  one  of  my  former 
comrades,  was  afifected.  I  was  in  hopes  for  some 
time,  that  his  heart  had  been  truly  changed ;  but  since 
then,  he  has  awfully  declined.  I  hope,  however,  he 
will  yet  be  brought  back;  for  I  met  with  him  the 
other  day,  after  he  had  been  at  a  horse  race,  and 
begged  him  to  come  into  my  house.  He  followed 
me  like  a  criminal;  1  plucked  up  courage,  and  would 
go  to  prayer  with  him,  and  it  is  amazing  how  he 
wept,  and  with  what  contrition  he  mentioned  his 
backsliding  state. 

Wor.  People  must  have  been  filled  with  remark- 
able astonishment  at  such  a  change. 

JVIer.  Why,  sir,  it  was  curious  beyond  expression, 
what  strange  reports  fled  about  the  country,  con- 
cerning me.  Some  said,  that  the  change  was  occa- 
sioned by  dejection  of  spirits,  from  rpy  having  met 
with  a  heavy  loss  by  gaming;  others  found  out  that  I 
had  been  crossed  in  love;  some  said  that  I  had  seen  my 
uncle's  apparition,  who  died  about  six  weeks  before; 
and  others  thought  it  was  the  effect  of  a  fall  from  my 
horse,  when  I  was  taken  up  for  dead  at  Gambleton 
races,  w^hereby  my  skull  had  been  nearly  fractured, 
and  that  now  1  was  quite  gone  mad.  In  short,  it  was 
so  currently  reported,  that  1  was  mad,  that  young 
captain  Sparkish,  one  of  my  former  frothy  compa- 
nions, actually  came  over  to  see  me,  and  inquired  if 
it  might  not  be  advisable  to  consult  a  physician,  to 
know  what  remedy  might  be  necessary  to  heal  the 
cracked  skull  I  met  with,  on  the  horse-course. 

3Iiss  Wor.  Why,  sir,  I  should  rather  tiiink  it 
miglU  have  been  supposed,  your  skull  was  quite  as 
much  cracked,  when  you  were  after  every  mad 
amusement,  and  when  you  pitied  me  and  my  sisters 
at  Mr.  Bluster's,  that  we  were  to  be  bred  up  in 
such  a  mopish  manner,  as  that  we  were  not  to  be 


384  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

allowed  to  touch  a  card;  and  as  you  expressed  your- 
self that  my  father  would  as  soon  see  the  devil  come 
into  the  house  as  a  dancing-master;  but  I  am  vsure, 
what  the  grace  of  God  has  done  upon  your  heart,  has 
been  a  great  blessing  to  me, 

J\Ier.  Why,  madam,  who  could  tell  you  I  made 
such  a  speech  as  that?  I  confess,  though  I  have  fre- 
quently expressed  my  pity  that  Mr.  Worthy  should 
educate  his  daughters  in  such  a  mopish  manner,  as  I 
then  thought  it;  yet  I  do  not  think  1  ever  said  your 
father  '^  would  as  soon  see  the  devil  in  his  house,  as 
a  dancing-master." 

TVor.  [To  his  daughter.]  This  you  know,  my  dear, 
was  a  speech  of  Mr.  Spiteful:  and  when  he  has  it  in 
his  power  to  exemplify  the  spleen  of  his  heart  against 
any  of  the  supporters  of  vital  religion,  he  never  thinks 
it  a  crime  to  exaggerate. 

Miss  JVor.  But,  sir,  since  you  favoured  me  and 
my  sisteis  with  the  present  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More's 
book  on  Female  Education,  we  can  very  willingly 
give  up  the  silly  amusement  of  dancing  and  card- 
playing,  for  the  sake  of  the  rational  instructions  we 
receive  in  the  room  of  them.  I  am  sure,  when  1  hap- 
pened to  be  with  the  Miss  Giddy's  the  other  day,  I 
was  satisfied  nobody  need  to  envy  them  the  privi- 
leges of  their  sort  of  education. 

Mer.  Indeed,  my  dear  Miss  Worthy,  through  the 
divine  blessing,  I  now  see  how  much  it  is  to  be  la- 
mented, that  the  young  women  of  the  present  day 
are  turned  out  from  their  different  boarding-schools, 
such  mere  baubles  and  playthings,  that  they  scarcely 
deserve  to  be  esteemed  as  rational  creatures;  but  I 
had  no  serious  views  of  the  evils  of  these  things,  till 
I  became  serious  myself. 

TVor.  Yes,  and  when  you  were  half  a  madman,  and 
as  thoughtless  as  you  could  be,  you  were  then  judged 
to  be  in  your  sober  senses;  but  when  you  became 


DIALOGUE  XIX.  385 

"sober  and  temperate  in  all  things/'  then  you  were 
supposed  to  be  a  madman.  We  never  know  the 
worth  of  our  own  minds,  till  such  time  as  we  are 
blessed  with  the  grace  and  mind  of  Christ. 

Mer.  I  am  sure  the  Spirit  of  God,  in  his  divine 
operation  on  the  human  mind,  may  well  be  described 
as  "the  Spirit  of  wisdom  and  understanding."  What 
a  lovely  sedateness,  what  pleasant  calmness,  are  they 
possessed  of  who  feel  the  restoration  of  "the  king- 
dom of  heaven  within  them;"  which  is  beautifully 
described  in  the  scripture,  as  being  "righteousness, 
and  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost !" 

PFor.  Mr.  Lovegood  preached  us  two  admirable 
sermons,  a  few  Sundays  ago,  on  that  subject,  "The 
peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding,  shall 
keep  your  hearts  and  minds,  through  Jesus  Christ." 
But  here  is  Edward  coming;  I  suppose  it  is  with  a 
message  from  Mr.  Lovegood. 

Edw.  Sir,  will  your  honour  want  the  best  parlour 
when  you  come  in?  for  a  young  gentleman  and  his 
lady  in  a  one-horse  chair,  and  a  servant  with  them 
on  horseback,  stopt  to  read  the  poetry  your  honour 
had  put  over  the  door,*  and  have  asked  for  a  dish  of 
tea;  and  say,  if  I  can  accommodate  them,  they  had 
rather  stop  the  evening  with  us,  than  go  two  miles 
farther  to  Mapleton. 

TVo7\  0  no,  Edward,  we  shall  be  going  home  di- 
rectly. 

Edw.  But  I  am  afraid  my  accommodations  are  not 
good  enough  for  them;  for  I  am  sure  by  their  man- 
ner that  they  are  real  gentlefolk. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Then  you  will  find  it  still  more  easy  to 
accommodate  them.  You  have  all  things,  though 
in  a  plain  way,  yet  very  clean  and  neat;  and  if  they 
want  any  thing  you  have  not  got,  send  to  Trusty,  my 
housekeeper,  and  she  will  let  you  have  it. 

*  See  Dialogue  XVU, 


386  ■  VILLAGE   DIALOGUES. 

JVo7\  Well,  we  will  leave  a  couple  of  the  largest 
trout  for  your  guests,  and  call  on  Mr.  Lovegood;  and 
we  will  go  home  and  clear  for  your  visitants. 

Edic.  Thank  your  honour  and  madam,  for  your 
kindness. 

Wor.  Farewell,  Edward.  But  be  sure  and  send 
if  you  want  any  thing. 


DIALOGUE  XX. 


MR.  WORTHY,  MR.  LOVELY,  AND  OTHERS. 


THE    CONTRAST;    OR,    CONJUGAL    HAPPINESS,    FOUNDED   ON 
CHASTITY,  FIDELITY,  AND  AFFECTION. 

Edward  goes  to  Brookfield  Hall  on  the  following 
morning,  after  the  arrival  of  his  new  guests,  while  the 
family  were  at  breakfast,  and  begs  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Worthy.     Edward  is  introduced. 

Edw,  Sir,  your  honour  said  that  I  must  call  on  you 
if  the  gentleman  and  lady,  who  came  to  our  house 
yesterday  evening,  wanted  any  thing.  They  want 
nothing  but  the  liberty  to  walk  in  your  honour's 
park;  and  they  are  so  pleased  with  the  situation,  and 
so  well  contented  with  our  plain  way  of  accommo- 
dating them,  that  they  mean  to  stop  over  Sunday; 
for  I  made  bold  to  tell  them,  what  a  wonderful  fine 
man  we  have  for  the  minister  of  our  Parish,  and  that 
it  was  he  who  made  the  verses  your  honour  had  put 
over  the  door;  but  I  should  be  ashamed  to  put  them 
in  our  pew. 

Wor.  Well,  Edward,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  on 
that  score,  for  though  we  are  pretty  well  crowded 
with  Mr.  Considerate's  family  and  our  own,  yet  my 
daughters  can  sit  with  Mrs.  Lovegood,  and  then  we 
shall  have  room  for  them. 

J\Irs.  Wor.  But  do  you  want  any  thing  for  their 
accommodation? 

Edw.  Nothing,  madam,  but  Mrs.  Trusty's  receipt, 


388  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

with  your  leave,  to  make  some  jellies;  the  lady  is  in 
a  very  poor  state  of  health,  and  he  is  so  tender  of 
her!  They  seem  to  be  a  most  loving  pair. — Poor 
Mrs.  Chipman!  the  sight  of  it  quite  cuts  her  to  the 
heart;  she  is  alvva^^s  saying  she  might  have  been  as 
happy  as  they  are,  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  own 
folly,  and  the  evil  consequences  of  sin. 

Mrs.  fVor.  Trusty  shall  send  some  jellies  to  your 
house  directly. 

Wor.  Perhaps  a  little  fruit  also  may  be  acceptable? 

Edw.  Why,  the  lady  was  asking  if  we  had  any, 
and  we  gathered  some  cherries  and  strawberries  for 
them;  but  it  is  not  in  our  way  to  raise  such  dainties 
as  your  honour  has  at  the  Hall. 

Wor.  I  shall  tell  the  gardener  to  send  them  a  basket 
of  fruit,  and  1  shall  call  on  you  to-morrow,  and  in- 
vite them  to  tea. 

Edw.  Thank  your  honour.  The  dear  gentleman, 
(and  I  am  sure  by  his  kind  and  good  behaviour,  he 
must  be  some  downright  gentleman;)  he  thinks  about 
nothing  but  his  wife:  she  is  very  sickly,  and  he  is 
sadly  afraid  he  will  lose  her. 

Wor.  I  hope  it  is  not  another  Sir  Charles  and 
Lady  Dash's  story. 

Edw.  0,  sir!  their  behaviour  is  so  different,  it  can- 
not be: — I  am  sur.e  it  cannot  be. 

TVor.  Have  you  learnt  the  gentleman's  name.'* 

Edw.  Why,  sir,  when  their  servant  sat  down  to 
supper  with  us,  I  made  bold  to  ask  him. — His  name 
is  Lovely.  He  came  from  a  place  called  Fairfield, 
near  Grediton.  It  is  amazing  what  a  character  the 
man  gives  his  m.aster  and  mistress,  and  what  an  af- 
fecting story  he  tells  about  them:  I  think  there  have 
been  nothing  but  affecting  stories  at  our  house  of  late; 
as  how  he  married  against  the  consent  of  his  rich 
uncle;  and  that  he  is  very  angry  with  him:  but  I  can 
.scarcely  tell  your  honour  the  rights  of  it. 


DIALOGUE  XX.  389 

[On  the  next  day  Mr.  Worthy  accomplished  his 
hospitable  design:  the  first  introductory  tea-table  con- 
versation being  not  of  sufficient  importance  to  be 
narrated,  shall  be  omittea.  After  tea,  as  the  weather 
proved  lowering,  Mrs.  Lovely  continued  the  guest  of 
Mrs.  Worthy,  while  Mr.  Worthy  and  Mr.  Lovely 
took  a  short  walk  about  the  gardens:  and  when  seated 
in  the  green-house,  the  following  conversation  took 
place.] 

Wor,  T  am  afraid,  sir,  you  meet  with  very  plain 
accommodations  at  the  Golden  Lion,  though  1  am 
satisfied  the  worthy  landlord  and  his  wife  will,  ac- 
cording to  the  best  of  their  ability,  make  you  as  com- 
fortable as  they  can  in  their  homely  way. 

Lov.  0,  sir!  nothing  can  delight  us  more  than  our 
present  accommodations.  As  we  passed  by  we  stopt 
to  read  the  poetry;  and  it  struck  us  so  exceedingly, 
that  we  thought  we  would  gratify  our  curiosity  by 
going  into  the  house.  We  called  for  tea,  and  were  so 
astonishingly  pleased  with  the  neat  and  decent  ap- 
pearance of  matters,  that  we  at  once  determined  to 
stop  short  of  Mapleton,  where  we  intended  to  have 
slept.  Besides,  we  were  so  struck  with  the  enchant- 
ing scenery  from  the  lovely  situation  of  the  village, 
the  neighbourhood  being  so  beautifully  dressed  by 
the  taste  you  have  displayed  about  your  own  house 
and  pleasure-grounds, that  we  next  determined  to  con- 
tinue, at  least,  a  few  days  in  our  present  quarters. 

fVor.  Have  you  a  long  journey  then  before  you, 
sir? 

Lov.  Oh  no,  sir!  I  am  only  taking  easy  journeys 
from  place  to  place,  by  the  advice  of  our  physician, 
to  see  if  any  thing  can  be  done  for  the  recovery  of 
the  health  and  spirits  of  that  invaluable  creature, 
who  has  been  my  wife  for  about  these  six  months. 
We  are  under  peculiar  embarrassments,  [he  hesitates 
and  wipes  his  eyes,  then  addsj  my  relations,  some  of 
VOL.  I. — 34 


390  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

whom  are  very  affluent,  are  exceedingly  displeased 
at  the  marriage,  and  1  am  afraid  lest  I  should  lose  the 
best  of  wives  by  the  affliction. 

fVbr.  I  know,  sir,  how  indelicate  it  is  to  ask  you 
questions  of  this  sort,  as  it  seems  almost  bordering 
upon  impertinence;  but  may  I  suppose  your  only 
crime  has  been,  that  you  were  captivated  by  a  very 
amiable  young  woman,  whose  birth  and  education 
were  inferior  to  your  own. 

Lov.  0,  sir!  no  apology  is  needed;  and  our  minds 
have  suffered  so  severely  by  this  event,  that  it  will 
be  a  great  indulgence  to  me,  especially  as  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  to  inquire  so  much  into  your  cha- 
racter since  I  have  been  here,  if  you  will  allow  me 
to  be  more  particular. 

TVor.  We  cannot  well  leave  our  present  retreat,  as 
it  begins  to  rain;  and  whatever  you  communicate 
shall  be  in  confidence. 

Lov.  Oh  no,  sir!  no  confidence  is  necessary.  The 
part  my  dearest  wife  and  I  have  acted,  may  be  pub- 
lished in  every  newspaper  throughout  the  kingdom, 
and  it  will  never  put  us  to  the  blush. 

TVor.  Sir,  after  such  a  declaration  of  your  honour- 
able conduct,  I  cannot  be  less  anxious  to  hear  your 
story,  than  you  are  to  relate  it. 

Lov.  Sir,  before  you  can  fully  understand  matters 
1  must  first  give  you  a  short  history  of  our  family 
connexions.  My  father  has  a  small  hereditary  estate, 
which  clears  him  between  five  and  six  hundred  a 
year,  and  that  he  might  increase  his  fortune,  he  en- 
gaged with  others  in  a  large  brewery.  He  married  a 
Miss  Greedy,  whose  family  is  very  rich,  but  as  it  is 
the  scheme  of  that  family,  like  many  others,  to  hoard 
up  all  for  the  eldest  son, her  fortune  was  nothing  great- 
er than  my  father  had  a  right  to  expect,  it  being  only 
three  thousand  pounds.  By  that  marriage  my  father 
had  five  children;  my  younger  brother  died  almost  an 


DIALOGUE  XX.  391 

infant.  So  that  our  family  at  present  consists  of  my- 
self and  three  sisters;  two  of  these  are  creditably  mar- 
ried, and  for  this  they  have  to  thank  my  father,  who 
being  a  person  of  strict  integrity,  never  saw  it  just  to 
make  such  a  vast  difference  between  his  children:  and 
having  thus,  by  care  and  attention,  portioned  off  my 
sisters  with  very  decent  fortunes,  he  tells  me  I  have 
little  to  expect  from  him  but  the  family  estate. 

TVor.  Well,  sir,  I  congratulate  you  in  having  a 
father  of  such  integrity  and  worth.  1  am  surprised 
that  he  should  have  been  so  displeased  at  your  mar- 
riage. 

Lov.  He  displeased  at  the  marriage!  no,  dear  sir, 
it  met  with  his  highest  approbation;  and  he  has  not 
a  daughter  of  his  own  that  he  can  love  better  than 
my  dearest  wife;  she  was  a  creditable  tradesman's 
daughter,  or  rather  in  the  mercantile  line;  well  edu- 
cated, and  brought  into  the  family  with  her  eight 
hundred  pounds  on  the  day  of  her  marriage.  But  0, 
sir!  if  you  did  but  know  half  her  excellencies,  you 
would  say  she  was  the  greatest  fortune  imaginable 
in  herself,  inestimable  beyond  the  value  of  money. 
It  has  been  the  displeasure  of  my  rich  uncle,  my 
mother's  brother,  which  has  been  the  cause  of  our 
perplexity. 

}Vor.  What  Was  that  to  him,  if  your  marriage  was 
conducted  with  so  much  purity,  chastity,  and  pro- 
priety, and  with  the  consent  of  your  parents? 

Lov.  Sir,  it  was  greediness  and  family  pride.  I 
have  tainted  the  blood  of  the  family  by  marrying  a 
tradesman's  daughter,  when  I  might  have  enriched 
it  by  marrying  the  daughter  of  an  Earl;  and  my 
mother  unhappily  joined  with  him  in  all  his  objec- 
tions. 

Wor.  But  you  are  not  of  his  family,  after  all;  and 
how  could  you,  with  your  comparatively  small  for- 
tune, and  when  even  that  was  not  to  be  yours  till 


392  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

after  your  father's  death,  support  the  daughter  of  an 
Earl,  in  the  extravagant  style  in  which  they  gene- 
rally expect  to  live. 

Lov.  0,  sir!  but  he  meant  to  make  me  his  heir. 

Wor.  What,  then,  had  your  uncle  no  children  of 
his  own? 

Lov.  Sir,  he  never  was  married  for  the  sake  of  an 
offspring,  but  that  he  might  enlarge  his  property. 
He  therefore  availed  himself  of  the  folly  of  a  rich 
widow,  who  was  fifteen  years  older  than  himself; 
and  when  he  had  possessed  himself  of  her  fortune,  he 
treated  her  most  cruelly.  However,  he  had  plenty 
of  children,  as  is  supposed,  by  other  women;  for  he 
is  a  most  debauched  character,  and  at  the  same  time 
a  most  extortionate  miser,  though  he  was  still  fond 
of  making  a  family  show;  and  till  lately  he  meant 
to  make  a  son  he  had,  by  a  married  woman  in  that 
neighbourhood,  his  heir;  as  she  was,  and  as  they  call 
it,  better  bred  than  most  of  the  low  women  with 
whom  he  had  been  connected;  and  the  children  he 
had  by  these,  being  ashamed  to  own  them,  he  would 
have  packed  off  to  nurse,  at  the  cheapest  rate  pos- 
sible; and  nothing  rejoices  him  so  much,  as  when  he 
hears  of  the  death  of  any  of  them. 

Wor.  How  came  he  to  alter  his  mind,  and  not  make 
the  son  you  mention  his  heir? 

Lov.  Sir,  he  educated  him  for  that  purpose,  but 
in  so  mean  a  way,  and  introduced  him  among  such 
a  terrible  set  of  low  associates,  that  he  turned  out 
quite  a  blackguard:  and  being  educated  under  such 
large  expectations,  he  became  also  very  extravagant: 
and  as  his  father  was  too  covetous  to  give  him  remit- 
tances equal  to  his  extravagance,  he  got  himself  con- 
nected with  a  set  of  swindlers;  and  that  he  might  be 
able  to  pay  some  gaming-debts,  he  committed  such 
crimes,  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the  country,  or 
be  sent  to  jail;  my  uncle  therefore  gave  him  fifty 


DIALOGUE  XX.  393 

pounds,  and  sent  him  to  America,  and  it  is  reported, 
that  he  died  there  of  the  yellow  fever. 

Wor.  What  horrid  evils  are  connected  with  such 
a  life  of  debauchery,  that  a  man  should  be  such  a  de- 
testable brute*  thereby,  as  to  be  ashamed  of  his  own 
offspring,  even  so  as  to  wish  them  dead!  How  dif- 
ferent the  happy  state  of  those  children,  whose  ex- 
istence is  their  parents'  boast  and  joy:  how  I  hate 
the  low  libidinous  tricks  of  the  present  evil,  adulte- 
rous generation ! 

Lov.  Sir,  I  am  sure,  it  is  impossible  to  detest  them 
worse  than  they  deserve.  However,  my  uncle,  after 
the  death  of  this  his  profligate  bastard,  as  I  was  his 
heir-at-law,  began  to  think  of  adopting  me  as  such. — 
My  father  could  never  bear  the  name  of  him;  yet 
when  he  was  frequently  sending  for  me,  he  advised 
me  by  no  means  to  insult  him  by  personal  incivilities, 
as  his  property,  according  to  legitimate  right,  would 
next  be  mine.  As  my  uncle  ordered  me  I  therefore 
went  to  his  house;  when  the  more  I  knew  of  him, 
the  more  I  was  disgusted  at  him. 

Wor.  Were  you  obliged  to  live  pretty  constantly 
with  him  then? 

Lov.  Not  entirely  so:  for  I  was  always  striving  to 
make  an  excuse  of  absence;  and  the  argument,  which 
best  succeeded  with  him,  was  about  the  brewery; 
that  as  my  father  farmed  a  good  deal  of  his  own 
estate,  he  would  be  a  considerable  loser  in  the  brew- 
ery, unless  I  kept  the  accounts;  for  my  uncle  never 
had  but  two  objects  in  view, — by  every  means,  how- 
ever base  some  of  those  means  might  be,  to  enrich  the 
family,  and  to  gratify  his  impure  desires. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  this  proved  a  just  and  providential 
excuse,  to  be  as  little  as  possible  with  such  a  family. 

*  In  this  respect,  man,  by  his  debauchery,  is  even  beneath 

A  BRUTE. 

34* 


394  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Lov,  But,  sir,  it  was  by  this  favourable  turn  to- 
wards me,  that  a  chain  of  events  was  produced,  which 
have  proved  the  most  perplexing  and  distressful  to 
myself  and  my  dearest  Ann. 

Wor,  Really,  sir,  your  history  becomes  so  inte- 
resting, that  1  am  quite  anxious  to  hear  the  result 
of  it. 

Lov.  Sir,  before  my  uncle's  determination  had 
been  made  known  to  me,  of  adopting  me  as  the  heir 
to  his  estates,  a  design  of  marriage  had,  in  ai  great 
measure  been  settled  between  myself  and  my  dearest 
wife;  and  not  less  to  the  satisfaction  of  our  parents, 
than  myself.  All  that  he  ever  said,  was,  '^  please 
yourself,  and  you  will  please  me;  money  is  no  ob- 
ject; happiness  in  the  married  state  consists  in  some- 
thing better  than  money;''  but  when  my  uncle  was 
determined  to  make  me  his  heir,  I  was  immediately 
to  be  married  to  some  woman  with  money,  or  blood, 
as  it  is  called.  One  of  Lord  Gambleton's  daughters 
was  therefore  immediately  thought  of,  and  though 
his  Lordship  had  considerably  reduced  his  fortune 
by  his  extravagance,  yet  as  for  want  of  a  male  issue 
they  were  co-heiresses,  it  was  judged  an  excellent 
match  on  my  behalf;  but  a  more  worthless  right  abo- 
minable never  existed  among  the  right  honourables: 
and  thus  between  his  Lordship's  blood,  and  my 
uncle's  money,  I  at  all  events  must  be  united  to  this 
noble  family. 

Wor.  0  this  noble  blood,  and  this  love  of  money! 
what  mischief  they  create!  But  how  did  you  get 
over  the  difficulty? 

Lov.  Why,  sir,  I  knew  that  it  would  not  be  in  my 
power  to  deal  with  my  uncle,  but  by  gentle  means. 
When  he  proposed  the  match,  1  told  him  the  con- 
nexion I  had  in  a  measure  formed  with  Miss  Com- 
merce, before  he  had  mentioned  his  kind  design  of 
making  me  his  heir.    He  started  and  said,  *•'  who  the 


DIALOGUE  XX.  395 

d — 1  is  Miss  Commerce?"  When  I  told  him  she 
was  a  respectable  tradesman's  daughter,  he  immedi- 
ately began  swearing,  after  the  mode  of  his  general 
conversation:  "  that  he  would  never  allow  any  of  his 
family  to  be  united  to  such  a  set  of  d d  black- 
guards;" calling  me  a  low  fellow,  and  saying,  if  I 
would  not  see  Lord  Gambleton's  daughter,  he  would 
adopt  another  heir,  and  that  he  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  me:  and  that  he  expected  1  should 
first  see  how  I  liked  the  eldest,  as  that  might  prove 
the  greatest  advantage  to  myself  and  the  family. 

fVor.  Really,  sir,  you  had  a  difficulty  before  you, 
not  easily  to  be  surmounted. 

Lov.  Sir,  1  told  him  I  could  have  no  objection 
against  seeing  any  of  Lord  Gambleton's  daughters, 
but  that  I  hoped  he  would  put  no  restraint  upon  my 
affections,  as  that  might  prove  a  source  of  misery  to 
me  through  life;  and  so  matters  were  waived  for  the 
present,  till  I  had  time  to  consult  my  parents. 

TVo7\  Well,  sir,  and  1  should  hope  your  parents 
did  not  advise  you  to  sacrifice  your  affections,  for 
the  sake  of  money  or  blood. 

Lov.  0,  sir!  my  father  behaved  like  a  father,  but 
it  grieves  me  to  say,  my  mother  was  just  the  reverse. 
She  was  at  once  struck  with  the  proposal;  observed^ 
what  a  fine  thing  it  would  be  to  have  her  son,  the 
acknowledged  heir  of  the  family  to  which  she  origi- 
nally belonged,  and  to  be  united  to  such  noble  blood; 
and  that  ray  present  engagement  with  Miss  Com- 
merce, was  not  so  far  gone,  but  that  I  might  break 
it  off. — 0,  sir !  what  a  hard  task  was  this  to  m3^self, 
and  the  dear  creature  to  whom  1  am  now  so  happily 
united ! 

Wot.  It  must  have  been  a  hard  task  indeed. — But 
how  did  you  succeed  in  evading  the  difficulties  of 
this  perplexing  dilemma? 

Lov.  You  must  suppose,  sir,  I  was  under  the  ne- 


396  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

cessity  of  meeting  with  Lord  Gambleton*s  family, 
who  came  on  purpose  to  visit  my  uncle;  and  Lady 
Georgiana,  being  the  eldest,  was  the  first  I  was  or- 
dered to  notice,  and  who  was  introduced  to  me  ac- 
cordingly, and  of  course,  I  was  obliged  to  be  very 
complaisant  to  her  in  return;  while,  as  I  suppose,  she 
was  directed  to  be  more  than  complaisant  to  me.  I 
cannot  express  myself  how  much  1  was  disgusted, 
even  at  first  sight,  at  the  silly  airs,  the  fulsome  for- 
wardness, of  this  paltry  7ness  of  noble  blood,  when 
brought  into  competition  with  the  excellent  under- 
standing, undisguised  modesty,  and  unaffected  sim- 
plicity, of  my  dearest  Ann. 

fVor.  Sir,  I  confess  you  would  have  made  a  sacri- 
fice much  to  your  discredit,  had  you,  contrary  to 
every  just  and  generous  feeling,  given  up  for  such 
motives,  an  object  so  worthy  of  your  afiections. 

Lov.  Sir,  if  I  had  hot  taken  the  liberty  to  inquire 
into  your  character,  I  should  not  have  been  so  happy 
in  your  approbation  of  my  conduct;  I  am  satisfied  it 
will  therefore  still  meet  with  your  approbation,  when 
you  hear  the  result  of  these  events. 

Wbr.  Dear  sir,  I  have  now  no  doubt  of  it. 

Lov.  After  this  wretched  bit  of  forwardness,  igno- 
rance, and  self-conceit,  was  proposed  to  me,  to  sup- 
plant my  dearest  Ann,  for  the  sake  of  money  and 
blood,  my  uncle  presently  perceived  how  much  I  was 
disgusted  at  her,  and  told  me,  (1  shall  not  repeat  the 
disgustful  oaths  he  made  use  of  on  this  occasion,) 
what  a  brewery  blackguard  I  was,  not  to  behave 
more  civilly  to  one  of  Lady  Georgiana's  rank;  that 
if  I  married  her,  I  might,  if  I  pleased,  keep  the  other 
girl  as  my  mistress;  and  he  was  sure  a  sum  of  money 
which  he  was  ready  to  advance,  would  accomplish 
his  wishes  and  mine;  or  that  he  had  been  dreadfully 
mistaken  in  the  disposition  of  women,  as  far  as  ever 
he  had  to  do  with  them. 


DIALOGUE  XX.  397 

Wor.  Then  your  uncle  supposed  that  all  other 
people  were  as  unprincipled  as  himself;  and  that 
every  female  character  was  of  the  same  description, 
as  those  low  objects  of  his  brutal  desires  with  whom 
he  had  been  connected:  though  I  confess  it  scarcely 
seems  possible  that  you  could  have  a  stronger  induce- 
ment presented  before  you,  to  behave  dishonourably 
to  the  good  lady,  to  whom  it  seems  you  were  so  so- 
lemnly betrothed. 

Lov.  Indeed,  sir,  it  seemed  next  to  nothing  to  me, 
after  a  second  interview  with  Lad}^  Georgiana,  and 
Lord  Gambleton's  other  two  daughters:  for  my 
uncle  insisted  upon  it,  that  I  should  go  with  him  to 
return  the  visit;  and  0,  the  horrid  conversation  I 
there  heard!  the  worst  that  could  be,  from  a  proud, 
unprincipled  Peer,  and  a  worthless,  extortionate 
miser. 

fFor.  I  am  afraid,  sir,  I  shall  ask  too  much  if  I 
request  you  to  proceed. 

Lov.  0  no,  sir!  the  Right  Honourable  had  nothing 
to  say,  but  that  from  his  free  living,  according  to  the 
rank  of  life  he  was  obliged  to  fill,  and  through  some 
gaming  debts,  he  had  diminished  his  fortune;  and 
that  he  could  get  no  more  from  his  tenants,  as  that 
he  had  racked  up  their  rents  to  the  utmost  penny  he 
could  demand:  and  therefore,  as  courtly  favour  ge- 
nerally shone  on  noble  blood,  it  might  prove  a  con- 
venient match  to  both  families.  As  for  loving  one 
girl  better  than  another,  that  they  conceived  to  be 
all  nonsense:  and  though  it  seemed  necessary  to  pro- 
pose the  eldest  first,  yet  if  I  proved  rather  squeamish 
about  Lady  Georgiana,  there  was  Lady  Augusta, 
and  Lady  Catherine,  though  there  is  scarce  a  pin  to 
choose  between  them;  if  any  thing,  I  think  the  pre- 
ference might  have  been  given  to  the  eldest,  but  I 
am  sure  bad  was  the  best.  Still  it  was  by  no  means 
against  their  noble  blood  that  1  was  disgusted;  let 


398  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

people  be  as  honourable  in  character  and  conduct  as 
they  are  by  birth  and  title,  and  some  such  honourable 
characters  are  not  wanting  among  the  nobility  of  our 
land,  and  I  would  always  esteem  them  worthy  of 
double  honour;  but  when  these  three  empty  scraps 
of  vanity,  were  to  be  brought  into  competition  with 
my  dearest  Ann,  I  confess  they  appeared  the  most 
odious  creatures  1  ever  beheld. 

Wor.  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  you,  as  a  man  of  thought, 
must  have  felt  very  severely  on  this  occasion.  You 
cannot  be  ignorant  of  the  style  of  education  among 
young  persons  of  rank:  look  at  the  plain,  honest, 
country  milk-maid;  next  contrast  her  with  the  vain 
baubles  turned  out,  not  only  from  the  families  of  too 
many  of  the  Right  Honourables  of  the  day,  but  from 
most  of  our  modern  boarding-schools;  these  from 
being  first  mere  babies,  afterwards  get  something 
above  it  as  they  grow  up  towards  childhood ;  then 
they  are  sent  to  those  destructive  places  of  female 
education,  where  they  are  a  second  time  reduced 
almost  to  a  state  of  babyhood;  and  in  this  fool's 
paradise,  they  seem  happy  to  live  through  all  their 
lives,  fifty  times  more  offensive  babes,  than  if  they 
had  never  left  their  cradles. 

Lov.  Yes,  sir,  and  three  such  as  these  were  then 
presented  before  me,  on  account  of  money  and  blood, 
to  be  preferred  to  the  excellent  and  intelligent  per- 
son I  now  enjoy. 

Wor.  I  should  suppose,  however,  you  must  have 
suffered  much,  before  you  could  have  been  extri- 
cated from  these  difficulties. 

Lov.  Indeed,  sir,  no  person  could  have  been  called 
to  a  more  severe  contest  than  I  have  sustained,  be- 
tween my  affection,  my  judgment,  and  my  worldly 
interest;  for  my  uncle's  principles  were  perfectly 
libertine.  He  would  ever  be  saying,  that  "  the  end 
of  life  is  for  every  man  to  gratify  himself,  as  best 


DIALOGUE  XX*  399 

suited  with  his  natural  appetites  and  dispositions.  He 
was  perpetually  reading  heaps  of  French  publications 
on  that  subject;  but  here  was  my  difficulty:  what  he 
liked  best,  I  was  to  like  best  also,  or  else  suffer  the 
vengeance  of  his  high  displeasure.  He  had  fully  im- 
bibed the  sentiments  belonging  to  their  system  of 
mock  liberty,  that  men  should  be  left  to  live  as  they 
list,  without  the  least  control. 

Wor.  What  government  can  subsist,  where  every 
one  is  governed  by  his  own  abominable  lusts  and 
passions!  But  your  mother  thus  joining  with  your 
uncle's  views,  must  have  been  another  very  conside- 
rable impediment  in  your  way. 

Lov.  Indeed  it  was;  for  she  began  immediately 
to  act  so  cruelly  and  disgustingly  to  my  wife,  that 
she  was  soon  obliged  to  discontinue  all  her  visits  to 
our  house,  though  before  these  golden  promises  were 
made,  it  was  a  settled  business  that  a  marriage  should 
take  place. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  under  such  circumstances  as  you 
have  related,  neither  your  father  nor  your  mother 
ought  to  have  refused  their  consent ;  and  I  am  sure, 
when  they  had  once  solemnly  given  it,  they  had  no 
right  to  retract  it;  and  on  account  of  such  motives 
so  improperly  retracted,  it  would  be  equally  unjust 
in  either  of  you  to  have  renounced  the  pure  and 
chaste  promises  of  a  mutual  connexion,  which  sub- 
sisted between  j^ou.  It  were  well,  if  both  parents 
and  children,  would  duly  consider  the  proper  limits 
of  their  reciprocal  duty  towards  each  other;  but  for 
want  of  this,  how  frequently  do  children  and  parents 
distract  their  own  minds,  and  destroy  the  peace  of 
all  connected  with  them!  But  what  was  the  result 
of  these  matters? 

I^ov.  Sir,  my  uncle  for  once  gained  a  victory 
over  his  covetousness,  by  straining  a  point  in  con- 
nexion with  Lord  Gambleton,  to  see  if  they  could 


400  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

not  bribe  her,  by  the  promise  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
provided  she  would  be  off  from  the  engagement. 
The  accomplishment  of  this,  business  was  to  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  my  mother,  and  she  the  more 
eagerly  entered  into  it,  as  her  head  was  filled  with 
a  set  of  splendid  dreams,  that  if  they  could  blend 
the  two  families  into  one,  whether  it  might  not  be 
possible  to  procure  another  patent  of  peerage,  on 
behalf  of  the  female  line,  through  which  the  noble 
blood  was  still  to  flow:  and  nothing  pleased  the  pride 
of  my  poor  mother,  like  the  idea  that  her  only  son 
might  by  his  match  wear  a  coronet;  and  upon  these 
chimerical  principles  of  happiness,  we  were  called  to 
sacrifice  our  affections  and  solemn  engagements  vyith 
each  other. 

TVo7\  The  feelings  of  both  your  minds,  must  have 
been  seriously  disgusted  by  such  base  contrivances; 
and  at  the  same  time  so  artfully  calculated  to  tempt 
both  of  you  to  violate  the  solemn  promises  which  had 
subsisted  between  yourselves.  But  how  did  Mrs. 
Lovely  receive  the  proposal? 

Lov.  Sir,  the  immediate  answer  my  wife  sent, 
(for  we  were  not  then  together,)  was  just  what  I 
should  have  expected  from  the  independent  dignity, 
chastity  and  goodness  of  her  mind:  "That  to  pawn 
her  affections  for  the  lucre  of  gain,  was  so  much  be- 
neath every  feeling  she  possessed,  that  she  at  once 
rejected  it  with  entire  disdain;  and  that  if  they  could 
find  a  chapman  in  me,  for  the  sake  of  such  rewards 
to  give  her  up,  after  the  most  sacred  promises  which 
had  passed  between  us,  she  should  ever  esteem  it  a 
most  merciful  deliverance  to  escape  from  one  of  so 
mean  a  mind;  and  that  it  would  be  nothing  with  her, 
whether  I  married  any  of  Lord  Gambleton's  daugh- 
ters, or  any  one  else  I  might  choose  to  prefer,  though 
she  herself  had  not  the  most  distant  idea  that  I  could 
act  a  part  so  unfeeling,  so  ungenerous,  and  so  vile." 


DIALOGUE  XX.  401 

Dear  sir,  who  could  not  but  admire  a  mind  replete 
with  such  dignity  of  thought,  and  with  such  a  gene- 
rosity of  heart? 

Wor.  But  1  hope,  sir,  that  this  spirited  letter  so 
far  settled  matters,  as  that  you  got  rid  of  these  im- 
portunities, that  you  might  marry  according  to  your 
wish? 

Lov.  No,  sir,  my  uncle  still  kept  up  his  expec- 
tations, that  either  by  craft  or  cruelty,  they  might 
prevent  our  union:  and  in  order  to  accomplish  this, 
the  next  plan  was  to  send  me  into  the  south-west  of 
Ireland,  where  he  had  an  estate,  that  I  might  see  after 
his  tenants,  and  collect  some  arrears  of  rent,  with  a 
merciless,  crafty,  hard-hearted  wretch  of  a  lawyer, 
at  my  elbow,  to  watch  all  my  motions;  and  with  se- 
cret instructions  to  try  to  debauch  my  morals  and 
conduct  as  fast  as  he  could:  but  in  this,  1  thank  God, 
he  could  not  succeed;  and  there  1  was  ordered  to 
continue  till  my  uncle  followed  me,  which,  as  he  said, 
would  be  in  a  few  weeks. 

By  this  plausible  pretext,  in  first  making  me  the 
steward  of  what,  according  to  his  promise,  I  was  after- 
wards to  possess,  I  conceived  it  my  duty  to  follow  his 
directions.  But  this  was  all  done,  to  try,  if  possible, 
to  break  the  heart  of  my  dearest  Ann.  Being,  how- 
ever, suspicious  of  their  designs,  I  made  it  a  point  to 
call  on  her  before  I  went;  and  after  I  had  told  her 
the  difficulties  I  had  to  encounter,  I  pledged  myself, 
in  the  most  solemn  manner,  before  her  and  her  pa- 
rents, that  whatever  might  be  the  consequence,  we 
would  unite  for  life. 

Wor.  Sir,  I  love  you  to  my  heart  for  your  fide- 
lity. 

Lov,  But,  0  sir!  I  shall  never  forget  what  we  all 
felt  on  this  occasion;  though  what  I  did  was  under 
a  positive  and  deliberate  determination,  that  I  had 

VOL.  L — 35 


402  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

rather  a  thousand  times  support  myself,  as  the  ser* 
vant  of  my  father's  brewery,  or  even  by  daily  la- 
bour, with  such  a  wife,  than  be  united  to  the  best  of 
the  three  noble,  paltry  puppets,  that  had  been  exhi- 
bited before  me. 

fVor.  Were  you  obliged  to  be  long  absent  on  this 
errand? 

Lov.  Sir,  my  uncle  kept  me  above  three  months 
in  suspense;  still  making  some  frivolous  excuse  to 
delay  his  coming.  And  0!  what  tricks  and  pro- 
jects to  accomplish  their  designs  of  preventing  our 
union.  First,  the  letter-carrier,  unknown  to  the 
post-master,  was  bribed  to  bring  all  letters  which 
passed  between  my  dear  Ann  and  myself,  to  my  uncle 
or  my  mother,  and  these  were  opened  and  secreted 
from  each  of  us. 

One  letter  she  was  allowed  to  receive,  written  as 
by  my  direction,  though  not  in  my  hand,  stating  that 
I  had  employed  one  of  my  comrades  in  wickedness, 
to  correspond  with  one  Mary  Coleman,  a  common 
strumpet,  engaging  to  give  her  twenty  pounds  a  year 
for  the  maintenance  of  a  bastard,  they  feigned  I  had 
by  her,  as  I  was  under  the  necessity  to  marry  Lady 
Georgiana  Gambleton,from  family  circumstances;  but 
still  that  my  occasional  visits  should  not  be  wanting; 
and  this  letter  was  supposed  to  have  been  mis-sent 
and  intercepted,  and  then  conveyed  into  the  hands  of 
that  good  little  woman,  that  it  might  be  the  cause 
of  breaking  off  the  match,  or  of  breaking  her  heart; 
and  indeed  it  had  nearly  accomplished  the  design. 
Nobody  can  tell  the  distracted  state  of  mind  she  was 
immediately  thrown  into,  and  in  which  she  continued, 
till  the  fraud  was  detected;  and  the  contrary  surprise 
of  joy  when  the  plot  was  discovered,  was  not  less 
trying  to  her  tender  feelings,  than  I  he  deep  grief  she 
had  before  sustained. 

Wor.  What  an  infernal  plan  was  this,  to  ruin  the 


DIALOGUE  XX.  403 

peace  of  both  your  minds!  But  could  Mrs.  Lovely 
for  a  moment  believe  all  this? 

Lov.  Sir,  she  knew  not  what  to  believe,  the  plot 
was  so  plausibly  laid.  Her  nights  were  sleepless,  and 
her  mind  was  almost  distracted.  First,  she  could  not 
account  for  my  apparent  neglect,  as  our  letters  were 
intercepted:  and  then  my  mother,  being  deep  in  the 
stratagem,  was  directed  to  tell  my  dear  Ann,  that  she 
had  from  my  authority  to  inform  her,  that  our  con- 
nexion could  not  take  place,  as  circumstances  were  so 
altered  since  I  first  became  acquainted  with  her;  and 
that  still  a  large  recompense  for  her  disappointment 
would  be  at  her  disposal,  when  she  chose  to  accept  it. 
And  these  accumulated  circumstances  at  once  threw 
her  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  from  which  it  was  expected 
she  would  never  recover. 

Wor.  Indeed,  if  she  believed  half  the  stratagem, 
replete  with  such  dissimulation  and  craft,  no  wonder 
that  she  should  be  completely  overset  by  the  appa- 
rent cruelty  of  your  conduct.  But  how  could  they 
suppose  that  a  plan  of  this  sort  should  not  very  speed- 
ily have  been  discovered? 

Lov.  Sir,  it  seems  they  had  other  steps  to  pur- 
sue, that  their  tricks  and  projects  might  not  be  dis- 
closed. During  my  residence  in  Ireland,  a  reverend 
gentleman  was  to  be  sent  after  me,  know^n  by  the 
name  of  Dr.  Cringer,  who  was  to  take  me  out  of 
the  way  for  several  months,  by  conducting  me  the 
tour  of  Europe,  and  to  make  me  the  accomplished 
gentleman,  by  teaching  me  some  of  the  modern 
European  languages.  This  gentleman  was  one  of 
Lord  Gambleton's  chaplains,  and  possessed  a  living 
in  his  gift;  and  since  then,  I  have  discovered  him  to 
be  the  most  contemptible  sycophant,  and  the  mean- 
est toad-eater  to  his  lordship,  that  ever  existed.  How- 
ever, this  plot  discovered  itself  before  it  was  fully 
accomplished. 


404  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

Wor.  I  should  be  happy  to  know  how  this  took 
place. 

Lov.  Sir,  while  my  dearest  Ann  was  lying,  as  it 
was  supposed  on  her  death-bed,  her  father  wrote  to 
my  father,  to  know  what  could  be  the  cause  of  all 
these  strange  circumstances;  and  why  he  should  suf- 
fer the  loss  of  such  an  invaluable  daughter,  by  a  con- 
duct so  treacherous  and  unjust  in  me?  Immediately 
both  our  parents  met  on  the  occasion;  it  would  require 
some  hours  to  tell  you  the  pains  they  took  to  investi- 
gate the  stratagem;  but  yet  how  speedily  they  trans- 
mitted to  me  the  discoveries  they  had  made! 

Wor.  You  must  have  been  considerably  struck  at 
this  discovery. 

Lov.  Struck,  sir!  nobod}^  can  tell  what  I  felt  under 
the  idea,  that  the  affectionate  and  gentle  heart  of  that 
excellent  creature  was  ready  to  break  through  my 
supposed  treachery,  while  I  loved  her  inexpressibly^ 
and  was  so  fully  determined  to  be  faithful  to  my 
vows, 

Wor.  But  I  should  hope,  sir,  your  perplexities 
soon  terminated  with  the  discovery  of  these  different 
plots. 

Lov.  Sir,  I  made  not  a  moment's  hesitation  to 
travel  directly  from  Ireland  to  Mr.  Commerce's; 
and  though  I  took  all  possible  care  that  matters 
might  be  so  broken  to  my  dear  Ann,  as  that  she 
might  not  be  too  much  overcome  by  the  news  of  my 
arrival,  and  by  the  consideration  of  the  events  which 
made  me  take  the  journey;  yet,  0  sir,  what  a  meet- 
ing it  was!  Her  tender  and  affectionate  frame  was 
so  overpowered,  especially  during  the  first  interview, 
as  that  no  words  can  sufficiently  express  what  she, 
and  indeed,  all  of  us  felt;  we  wept,  and  sobbed  and 
thus  sympathized  with  each  other  for  some  time, 
before  a  single  word  could  be  spoken  on  either  side. 
At  length  our  affectionate  parents  retired  from  the 


DIALOGUE  XX.  405 

room,  and  when  they  returned,  they  informed  us, 
that  they  had  both  entered  into  a  firm  resolution, 
that  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  all  those  detestable 
tricks  and  cabals,  we  should  never  again  separate 
from  each  other  till  our  marriage  had  actually  taken 
place;  for  that  they  cared  nothing  for  all  events  and 
consequences  about  large  estates,  and  noble  blood,  as 
they  were  determined  to  make  us  both  happy,  by 
an  immediate  union. — All  this  was  kept  an  entire 
secret  from  my  mother  and  uncle;  and  as  soon  as 
my  dear  Ann  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  con- 
veyed to  Church,  we  were  married  accordingly;  and 
0  sir!  the  tears  of  sympathy,  of  mutual  affection  and 
joy,  on  that  occasion,  will  never  be  forgotten! 

fVor.  But  I  suppose,  this  must  have  given  consi- 
derable offence  to  your  uncle. 

Lov,  Sir,  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  soften  mat- 
ters, but  in  vain;  for  immediately  after  marriage,  I 
returned  to  the  post  at  which  my  uncle  had  stationed 
me  in  Ireland;  and  though  I  had  found  that  the 
worthless  lawyer  he  sent  with  me,  had  informed 
him  of  my  elopement,  yet  as  he  could  only  guess  at 
the  cause,  I  had  to  reveal  the  event  to  my  uncle  b}^ 
letter.  This  I  did  with  as  much  tenderness  and  re- 
spect as  circumstances  would  admit,  assuring  him, 
that  if  I  had  displeased  him  by  taking  this  step,  yet 
that  in  every  other  point  of  view  I  wished  to  appear 
respectful,  obedient,  and  attentive  to  his  commands: 
but  that  I  most  humbly  requested  him,  if  he  still 
meant  me  as  his  heir,  that  he  would  dispense  with 
the  European  tour,  at  least  for  the  present;  as  duty 
and  affection  strongly  called  me  to  attend  upon  the 
excellent  young  woman  who  was  now  become  my 
wife,  and  who  possessed  every  possible  qualification 
to  render  herself  a  most  highly  respected  character, 
in  every  situation  of  life  she  might  be  called  to  fill. 

Wor.  You  should  have  added,  excepting  that  of 
35* 


406  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

noble  blood.     But  how  did  your  uncle  receive  this 
letter? 

Lov.  Sir,  his  rage  was  inexpressible.  He  wrote 
me  a  few  lines,  filled  with  oalhs,  for  my  folly, 
charging  me  to  leave  his  house  in  Ireland  directly; 
and  to  undertake  the  office  I  held  at  my  father's 
brewery,  as  that  was  the  most  fit  for  me  and  the 
shop-keeper'' s  girl,  I  had  presumed  to  marry  against 
his  consent. 

War.  Well,  sir,  after  all,  it  cannot  be  said  you  have 
lost  what  you  never  had,  though  the  sacrifice  you 
have  made,  of  what  you  had  in  reversion,  was  very 
great;  but  still,  you  have  gained  the  greatest  advan- 
tage in  your  character  and  conscience,  and  an  excel- 
lent wife  into  the  bargain. 

Lov.  0  sir!  I  have  a  full  compensation  for  all  my 
losses  and  troubles:  though  she  had  not  the  supposed 
advantages  of  the  politer  style  of  education  of  the 
day,  yet  having  a  very  strong  and  retentive  mind,  by 
her  own  diligence  and  attention,  she  has  provided  for 
herself  a  fund  of  knowledge  above  most  of  her  sex. 
She  is  exceedingly  well  read  in  history,  and  even  in 
some  branches  of  philosophy, especially  in  astronomy. 
The  languages  have,  by  no  means,  escaped  her  notice: 
she  is  a  perfect  mistress  of  the  English,  and  writes  an 
admirable  letter;  and  all  this  knowledge  she  acquired 
by  her  own  industry,  in  the  midst  of  the  hurry  and 
bustle  of  the  domestic  concerns  of  a  large  family,  to 
which  she  always  gave  the  utmost  attention;  at  one 
time  very  diligent  as  her  father's  scribe,  and  at  ano- 
ther time  not  less  attentive  to  fill  an  active  station, 
even  behind  the  counter,  when  needed. 

Wor.  After  such  real  accomplishments  as  these, 
you  had  no  great  cause  to  lament  the  loss  of  what  is 
called  a  politer  education.  Had  she  been  one  of  those 
poor,  paltry,  affected,  ignorant, conceited  misses  turned 
out  of  too  many  of  our  modern  boarding-schools^  the 


DIALOGUE  XX.  407 

loss  of  such  a  flimsy  bit  of  nonsense  in  female  shape, 
might  have  easily  been  repaired. 

Lov.  Yes,  sir,  but  to  me  it  appears  as  though  the 
world  could  not  produce  her  equal:  she  is  one,  of 
such  an  obliging  mind  and  temper,  that  she  never  is 
happy,  but  as  she  can  make  others  happy;  while  she 
is  blessed  with  a  disposition  the  most  serene,  affec- 
tionate and  kind.  If  I  can  but  preserve  her  life,  I 
think  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  upon  the  earth. 
[Lovely  weeps.] 

Wot.  Well,  sir,  as  the  principal  cause  of  perplexfty 
exists  no  longer,  let  us  hope  that  her  health  will  not 
only  soon  be  restored;  but  that  the  rage  of  your  un- 
cle will,  after  awhile  subside,  notwithstanding  he  has 
been  disappointed  in  his  projects.  "  The  hearts  of 
all  are  in  the  hands  of  God.^^ 

Lov.  Sir,  these  things  are  nothing  to  me:  I  possess 
all  I  want  in  my  dearest  wife,  though  I  heard  that 
my  uncle  should  say  to  my  mother,  the  other  day, 
that  he  could  not  but  admire  my  honesty,  notv/ith- 
standing  I  was  such  a  fool,  (with  his  accustomed  oath) 
in  not  following  his  directions:  and  another  event 
took  place  soon  after  our  marriage,  which  appeared 
to  us  not  less  remarkable  than  unexpected. 

Wor.  What  was  that,  sir. 

Lov.  One  of  the  former  generation  of  the  Greedy's, 
a  great-uncle  of  mine,  still  lives:  he  is  an  old  lawyer, 
and  is  now  past  eighty;  though  he  is  covetous  and 
mean,  and  mercenary  to  a  proverb,  yet  soon  after  our 
marriage,  he  came  to  see  us;  and  mentioned  ^how 
sorry  he  was  that  the  match  was  displeasing  to  my 
uncle,  though  he  confessed  he  approved  of  it  highly, 
as  he  believed  my  wife,  would  be  a  very  prudent  and 
saving  woman ;  and  had  1  married  any  of  Lord  Gam- 
bleton's  daughters,  they  might  have  made  me  a  spend- 
thriftf  and  that  he  hated  nothing  worse.  Now  as  I 
must  be  very  unhappy  at  home,  on  account  of  my 


408  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

mother's  displeasure;  and  as  my  wife's  spirits  and 
strength  were  much  impaired  by  what  she  had  already 
sustained,  he  said  he  feared  her  life  was  in  danger; 
and  therefore  had  consulted  a  physician  for  her,  who 
had  prescribed  moderate  travelling,  or  a  change  of 
scene,  without  much  fatigue,  as  her  disease  was  more 
in  her  mind,  than  her  body;  and  therefore,  he  ad- 
vised me  to  take  her,  by  slow  journeys,  from  place 
to  place,  that  her  health  and  spirits  might  be  re- 
cruited. In  order  to  cover  these  expenses,  he  begged 
my  acceptance  of  fifty  pounds;  promising,  at  the 
same  time,  to  leave  me  all  his  property,  provided  he 
saw  that  I  was  a  frugal  young  man;  engaging  also 
to  do  all  in  his  power  to  reconcile  my  mother  to  the 
match. 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  though  your  great  uncle's  disposi- 
tion inclines  him  to  be  parsimonious  and  mean,  yet 
in  this  respect,  he  behaved  to  you  in  a  manner  that 
w^as  generous  and  kind. 

Lov.  Yes,  sir,  but  the  very  next  day  he  repented 
of  it;  and  wrote  to  my  father,  telHng  him  he  must 
have  interest  for  it  while  he  lived,  though  he  still 
meant  to  appoint  me  his  heir.  He  never  was  known 
before  to  do  a  single  action,  that  looked  either  gene- 
rous or  kind;  but  having  had  several  sharp  contests 
about  money  matters,  with  my  uncle,  who  had  lately 
discarded  me,  they  were  quite  at  variance.  He  seemed, 
therefore,  to  be  willing  to  take  me  up  in  opposition 
to  him.  Nor  did  my  uncle's  way  of  living  please 
my  great-uncle  at  any  rate;  for  though  he  would  do 
any  thing  for  money,  yet  at  times,  when  among  the 
great,  from  family  pride,  he  would  be  somewhat 
splendid  and  expensive  in  his  style  of  living;  and 
this  always  displeased  my  great-uncle  exceedingly. 

Wor.  Ah,  sir,  such  are  the  clashings  of  interest, 
found  among  the  vices  of  mankind !  But  the  displea- 
sure of  your  mother  must  have  been  the  cause  of 
considerable  concern  to  the  whole  of  your  family. 


DIALOGUE  XX.  409 

Lov.  0  sir!  it  has  entirely  destroyed  our  family 
happiness;  though  it  is  my  father  who  has  felt  the 
most:  he  neither  can  find  any  happiness  in  my 
mother  as  his  wife,  nor  can  I  find  any  comfort  in  her 
as  a  parent,  while  she  hates  my  dearest  Ann  as  much 
as  my  father  loves  her;  and  is  living  in  perpetual 
hopes  of  her  death,  that  another  efibrt  may  be  made, 
if  possible,  to  get  me  in  the  mind  to  relish  some  of 
this  noble  blood:  so  that  at  present,  we  are  obliged 
to  retire  from  home  for  the  sake  of  peace.  And  all 
this  is  the  more  cutting,  as  it  comes  from  a  mother, 
who  once  appeared  to  love  me  very  tenderly;  but 
still  she  is  my  mother.  It  is  too  painful  for  my  re- 
collection ! 

Wor.  I  perceive  then,  dear  sir,  that  you  are  al- 
most under  the  necessity  of  a  temporary  banishment; 
and  as  travelling  from  place  to  place  is  very  expen- 
sive, do  sir,  let  me  request  the  favour  of  you  and 
Mrs.  Lovely  to  pass  some  time  with  us  at  Brook- 
field  Hall.  Wg  are  supposed  to  live  in  a  salutary  air; 
and  you  have  your  own  little  vehicle  to  take  your- 
self and  Mrs.  Lovely  to  different  parts  about  the 
country,  for  the  sake  of  moderate  exercise;  you  can 
travel  about  as  you  may  like,  and  still  make  my 
house  your  head-quarters.  If  you  please  sir,  as  the 
shower  seems  to  be  over,  we  will  adjourn  to  the 
house,  and  settle  it  with  Mrs.  Lovely.  I  am  sure 
Mrs.  Worthy  and  my  daughters  will  be  very  happy 
in  her  company;  Mrs.  Lovely's  want  of  noble  blood 
will  be  of  no  consequence  at  our  house.  We  are  no 
great  admirers  of  this  commodity,  as  it  is  in  general 
found  in  its  present  degenerate  state. 

Lov.  Dear  sir,  what  kindness  and  attention  to  an 
entire  stranger!  But  as  to  support,  both  my  father 
and  my  wife's  father  are  determined  to  join  in  all 
that  is  necessary  to  assist,  during  our  present  perplex^ 
ities;  and  though  we  suppose  we  must  retire,  for  the 


410  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

sake  of  peace,  into  some  little  country  cot,  at  a  dis- 
tance from  my  mother,  till  matters  may  soften;  yet 
should  it  please  God  to  restore  her  health,  a  very 
little  will  make  us  comfortable,  as  we  are  so  happy 
with  each  other.  But  I  am  sure,  sir,  Mrs.  Lovely 
will  be  quite  overcome  by  your  most  kind  and  affec- 
tionate attention  to  our  situation. 

Wo7\  0  sir!  don't  mention  any  thing  about  these 
matters.  I  don't  know  what  comfort  there  can  be  in 
life,  but  as  we  act  for  the  mutual  good  of  each  other. 
True  Christianity  is  sure  to  produce  real  politeness, 
without  the  assistance  of  the  affectation  of  the  world. 
Though  their  sort  of  politeness  is,  in  general,  little 
better  than  refined  hypocrisy;  yet  we  are  commanded 
to  <^be  given  to  hospitality,"  and  *'to  be  pitiful  and 
courteous.^'  I  must,  therefore,  insist  upon  it  that  you 
allow  me,  without  any  farther  ceremony,  to  make 
you  and  Mrs.  Lovely  our  guests,  while  you  continue 
in  these  parts.  [To  a, day  labourer.]  Here  John,  go 
directly  to  the  Golden  Lion,  and  ask  for  Mr.  Lovely's 
servant,  and  tell  him  to  bring  his  master's  horses  and 
carriage,  and  all  their  packages,  immediately  to  my 
house. 

Lov.  Oh,  dear  sir!  this  is  quite  too  much! — I  am 
afraid  my  poor  dear  wife  will  feel  herself  entirely 
thrown  out  of  that  humble  contemplative  state  of  re- 
tirement we  wish  to  enjoy,  by  her  being  introduced 
into  your  house. 

Wcr.  Oh,  Mrs.  Lovely  will  find  just  the  contrary 
within  half  an  hour  after  she  has  really  commenced 
our  guest:  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  fulsome 
formal  parade  of  the  world  at  our  house.  [To  the 
labourer.]     Why  don't  you  go,  John? 

,7b7m.  An't  please  your  honour,  I'll  go  directly. 

Lov,  Sir,  if  you  insist  upon  such  an  extraordinary 
act  of  hospitality,  I  should  be  glad  to  go  with  him, 
as  I  have  some  matters  to  settle  with  my  servant  on 
this  remove. 


DIALOGUE  XX.  411 

Wor.  Well,  sir,  then  I  shall  go  to  the  house,  and 
tell  Mrs.  Worthy  and  Mrs.  Lovely  how  we  have  set- 
tled matters,  and  shall  expect  your  speedy  return. 


Mr.  Worthy  and  Mr.  Lovely  immediately  sepa- 
rated. But  as  there  is  still  a  variety  of  events  which 
may  require  an  abridgment  to  prevent  repetition,  the 
reader  will  excuse  the  dress  of  dialogue,  while  he  is 
farther  informed,  that  Mr.  Worthy  accordingly  w^ent 
home,  and  in  the  fulness  of  his  benevolent  heart,  ad- 
dressed Mrs.  Lovely  rather  too  abruptly  for  the  tender 
feelings  of  her  delicate  and  sentimental  mind;  telling 
her  that  he  had  heard  every  circumstance  respecting 
them;  and  that  he  was  quite  in  raptures  of  the  fidelity 
and  integrity  of  Mr.  Lovely's  conduct;  and  begged 
their  acceptance  of  every  token  in  his  power  of  their 
hospitality  and  esteem.  He  insisted  upon  it,  that 
they  should  adjourn  from  the  Golden  Lion  imme- 
diately, and  be  their  guests,  at  least  for  some  days; 
and  that  after  they  had  received  a  short  sample  of 
their  sincere  and  sympathetic  regard,  they  should 
judge  for  themselves,  how  long  they  might  farther 
favour  them  with  their  company. 

This  so  won  upon  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Lovely,  that 
she  could  scarcely  support  herself  under  the  strong 
impressions  of  gr.atitude  she  felt,  from  this  instance 
of  truly  Christian  benevolence.  Her  husband  just 
then  came  in,  and  found  her  scarcely  able  to  speak, 
and  in  tears,  from  tlAe  influence  this  had  upon  her 
most  grateful  and  affectionate  disposition. 

The  cause  of  this  W'as  immediately  explained  to 
him.  Let  the  reader't^  imagination  next  describe 
the  feelings  of  this  ve/y  sincere  and  affectionate 
youth;  thus  engaged  in  w'iping  away  each  tear  as  it 
dropt  from  her  eye,  while  he  had  enough  to  do  to 
quell  the  like  sympathetic  tear,  as  it  involuntarily 
forced  itself  through  the  san  \e  sluices  of  his  affection ; 


4i2  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

and  then  let  him  judge  whether  Mr.  Lovely  would 
have  been  a  happier  man,  had  he  neglected  one  of 
such  a  mind,  for  the  sake  of  either  of  the  three  un- 
sentimental baubles,  whichever  it  might  have  been, 
that  through  the  mere  pride,  extravagance,  or  covet- 
ousness  of  the  parties,  was  designed  to  have  been  en- 
tailed upon  him. 

Thus  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lovely  commenced  the  guests 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Worthy,  while  the  honest  landlord 
of  the  Golden  Lion  parted  with  them  with  considera- 
ble regret.  They  could  not,  however,  help  remark- 
ing, in  the  course  of  the  evening's  conversation,  how 
very  orderly  all  their  little  matters  were  conducted 
at  the  public  house,  and  that  it  was  the  first  house 
they  ever  remembered  of  that  sort,  in  which  they 
heard  the  private  voice  of  family  prayer. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  conversation,  Mr. 
Lovely  started  some  queries  concerning  a  young 
woman  who  appeared  quite  of  a  dejected  turn  of 
mind,  and  asked  whether  it  was  from  some  deep  af- 
fliction, or,  it  should  rather  appear,  from  some  melan- 
choly derangement.  But  when  Mr.  Worthy  began 
to  tell  the  story  of  Mrs.  Chipman,  as  it  has  been  be- 
fore related  to  the  reader,  it  was  soon  found  too  strong 
a  contrast  of  what  had  passed  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lovely,  for  their  tender  minds  to  bear,  especially  as 
related  to  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Chipman,  since  she 
had  been  made  sensible  of  the  evil  consequences  of 
sin.  The  conversation,  therefore,  took  another  turn. 
Mrs.  Worthy  made  some  inquiries  into  the  family  of 
the  Lovelys,  as  her  mother  used  to  claim  relationship 
to  some  of  that  name.  By  this  means  they  discovered 
there  was  no  very  distant  relationship  between  the 
Worthys  and  the  Lovelys,  though  they  were  very 
glad  it  was  not  on  the  side  of  the  Greedys.  Mr. 
Lovely  also  had  to  console  himself  with  a  hope,  that 
-an  intermixture  into  that  family,  might  ultimately  be 


DIALOGUE  XX.  413 

of  no  great  harm  to  the  next  generation,  as  his  grand- 
father was  too  much  the  other  way,  and  had  suffered 
considerably,  by  lending  large  sums  of  money  to  some, 
in  being  security  for  others,  and  liberal  upon  all  oc- 
casions, so  that  his  fortune  had  been  much  injured  by 
his  generosity. 

Upon  this  discovery,  the  easy  and  affectionate 
appellation  of  cousin,  was  at  once  adopted,  and  the 
conversation  became  familiar;  soon  after  which,  the 
day  was  terminated  by  family  prayer,  and  supper; 
and  as  the  day  following  produced  some  conversation 
which  it  is  hoped  will  not  prove  uninteresting  to  my 
readers,  though  omitted  in  the  former  editions,  the 
substance  of  that  conversation  shall  next  be  narrated, 
as  soon  as  the  morning  sun  shall  rise;  and  if  these 
Dialogues  be  now  in  the  hands  of  those  who  retire 
to  their  rest,  without  first  dedicating  themselves  to 
God,  by  family  prayer;  while  they  conclude  the 
evening  by  reading  these  little  dramatic  attempts, 
may  this  laudable  custom,  so  seriously  attended  to  at 
Brookfield-Hall,  excite  my  kind  readers  also  to  break 
through  the  united  barriers  of  sloth  and  shame;  and 
ere  they  close  their  eyes  in  sleep,  may  they  close  the 
day  with  God. 


VOL.  I.— 36 


DIALOGUE  XXL 


BETWEEN  MRS.  AND  MISS  WORTHY,  AND 
MRS.  LOVELY. 


THE  EVILS  OF  SEDUCTION,  FARTHER  CONTINUED. 

On  the  next  morning,  while  Mr.  Worthy  and  his 
family  were  at  breakfast  with  their  new  guests,  it  was 
proposed  by  Mr.  Worthy,  that  he  and  Mr.  Lovely 
should  take  a  ride  to  see  some  of  the  more  extended 
prospects  in  that  beautiful    country,  and    then,  on 
their  return  home,  to  pass  through  some  of  the  re- 
tired glens  that  add  a  most  pleasing  variety  to  the 
enchanting  neighbourhood  of  Brookfield-Hall:  while 
the  pleasantness  of  the  day,  and  the  serenity  of  the 
weather,  invited  Mrs.  and  Miss  Worthy,  and  Mrs. 
Lovely  to  make  an  easier  excursion  in  an  open  car- 
riage nearer  home.     Though  the  captivating  scenery 
of  the  place  occupied  Mrs.  Lovely's  attention  for  a 
longer  time  than  was  designed,  from  the  weakly  state 
of  her  health;  yet  their  return  allowed  them  sufficient 
time  for  the  following  conversation,  before  the  designs 
of  the  more  extended  ride  of  Mr.  Worthy  and  Mr. 
Lovely  could  be  accomplished.     After   they  were 
seated  in  an  open  pleasant  hall,  in  this  earthly  para- 
dise, some  jellies  and  a  little  fruit  were  brought  in. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Now,  madam,  if  Mr.  Lovely  was  here, 
I  think  he  would  lay  his  commands  upon  you  that 
you  should  taste  how  you  like  one  of  those  jellies, 
and  some  of  that  fruit  after  your  airing. 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  415 

JUrs.  Lov.  0,  madam,  your  kindness  and  attention 
to  such  entire  strangers  will  never  be  forgotten. 

J\Irs.  Wor.  I  hope  not,  for  don't  you  remember 
yesterday  evening  that  we  made  it  out  that  we  are 
cousins,  and  relatives  demand  from  us  more  than 
the  common  civility  that  is  generally  bestowed  on 
strangers. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  thank  you,  kind  madam:  this  gentle 
exercise  in  this  delightful  situation,  seems  to  have 
done  me  so  much  good,  that  I  shall  accept  your  offer 
without  waiting  for  Mr.  Lovely's  commands,  though 
his  commands  of  this  sort  are  most  affectionately 
numerous.  Dear  man,  nobody  can  blame  me  for 
loving  him. 

Mrs.  Wor.  I  think  we  should  all  blame  you  if 
you  did  not  love  him,  for  we  are  all  charmed  with 
him  since  my  father  has  told  us  of  his  noble  and 
generous  conduct. 

Mrs.  Lov.  O,  madam,  you  cannot  know  half  his 
worth;  his  m.ost  happy  and  delightful  temper,  can 
never  be  sufficiently  appreciated.  If  his  uncle  could 
have  broken  off  the  match,  I  am  sure  it  must  have 
broken  my  heart,  he  is  such  a  delightful  man. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Why  we  are  all  of  us  equally  delighted 
with  him. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  am  glad  of  it,  dear  madam,  for  I 
cannot  but  love  all  who  love  my  dear  husband.  No 
woman  can  be  blest  with  a  better. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Perhaps  not,  but  I  think  I  am  blest 
with  one  quite  as  good.  I  have  been  married  to 
Mr.  Worthy  above  five  and  twenty  years;  and  if  we 
ever  differ,  we  never  disagree. 

It  is  poor  work  when  people's  happiness  ends  with 
the  honey  moon.  I  doubt  not  but  that  the  honey 
moon  with  us,  will  last  all  the  days  of  our  lives. 

Mrs.  Lov.  So,  dear  madam,  the  landlord  of  the 
Golden  Lion  says.     What  a  quiet  and  orderly  house 


416  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

they  keep!  while  their  kindness  and  attention  is 
remarkably  engaging.  Mr.  Lovely,  and  myself,  are 
so  pleased  with  them,  that  it  was  our  intention  to 
have  passed  a  few  days  under  their  humble  roof,  had 
not  your  kind  invitation  prevented;  and  especially 
as  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  place,  so  highly  cul- 
tivated and  improved  by  Mr.  Worthy's  taste,  so 
captivated  our  attention. 

J]Jrs.  JVor.  Yes,  and  this  is  the  only  thing  in  which 
Mr.  Worthy  seems  a  little  extravagant,  in  dressing 
his  old  family  demesne.  ^Nlost  travellers  are  highly 
delighted  with  our  situation. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  should  be  surprised  at  their  want  of 
taste,  if  they  were  noL  Considering  what  troubles 
we  have  lately  sustained;  and  what,  from  your  affec- 
tionate hospitality,  we  have  now  before  us,  it  seems 
as  though  we  were  on  enchanted  ground. 

JMrs.  TVor.  Why  ]Mr.  Worthy  considers  by  these 
improvements  how  well  he  employs  his  poor  neigh- 
bours: and  he  finds  it  much  better  to  give  them  la- 
bour, than  to  give  them  money  without  it:  and  this 
is  one  reason  whv  our  parish  poor  rates  are  scarcely 
felt 

3frs.  Lov.  What  a  happiness  it  would  be  if  every 
country  gentleman  would  follow  such  an  example! 

J\Irs.  JVor.  Indeed  it  would.  It  may  be  now  and 
then  necessary  to  take  a  little  journey  for  the  sake  of 
our  family,  yet  ^^r.  Worthy  cannot  bear  to  be  long 
from  home,  and  this  makes  him  so  much  beloved 
while  he  is  at  home. 

3Irs.  Lov.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Lovely  will  be  just  such 
another,  if  he  ever  should  possess  any  of  the  family 
estates,  but  that  is  now  scarcely  to  be  expected. 

Ms.  TVor.  I  dare  say  he  will:  there  is  no  doubt 
of  the  generosity  of  his  mind.  The  best  end  of 
living,  is  to  live  for  the  good  of  others. 

Mrs.  Lav.  It  is  amazing  what  he  feels  for  that 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  417 

poor  disconsolate  woman  at  the  Golden  Lion:  but 
if  she  is  a  penitent,  bad  as  her  conduct  may  have 
been,  she  is  still  to  be  pitied. 

Mrs.  Wor.  We  hope  she  is  a  penitent:  but  she  has 
enough  to  repent  of. 

Mrs.  Lov.  Indeed  she  has;  and  she  is  most  de- 
servedly and  severely  punished  by  the  reflections  of 
her  own  mind.  I  thank  God,  there  are  no  such 
reflections  between  my  dear  George  and  me.  I  have 
heard  more  of  her  story  this  morning;  though  my 
.spirits  were  too  weak  to  hear  the  whole  of  it  yester- 
day evening;  and  however  severe  our  troubles  may 
have  been,  yet  still  they  have  been  as  nothing,  when 
compared  to  an  unfortunate  lady  in  our  neighbour- 
hood, from  the  cruelty  and  treachery  of  her  hus- 
band. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Perhaps  it  is  more  painful  for  a  wo- 
man to  be  forsaken  by  her  husband,  than  for  a  man 
to  be  forsaken  by  his  wife;  though  it  is  the  same  sort 
of  cruelty  and  treachery  on  either  side  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Lov.  Indeed,  madam,  you  would  say  so,  if 
you  were  to  hear  the  story  of  this  unfortunate  lady. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Perhaps  you  have  not  sufficient  strength 
and  spirits  to  tell  the  story. 

Mrs.  Lov.  O  yes  I  have!  The  agitation  I  felt 
yesterday  in  coming  among  strangers,  through  your 
great  kindness,  is  considerably  subsided. 

Miss  Wor.  But  before  you  begin,  I  must  step 
out  for  my  work.  Your  talking  need  not  hinder 
my  working. 

Mrs.  Wot.  But  where  is  your  sister  Mary  ?  had 
she  not  better  come  in  and  help  you  to  finish  your 
work  for  the  poor  children? 

Miss  Wor.  She  will,  as  soon  as  she  returns  from 
Betty  Newman's;  she  is  gone  to  take  measure  of  one 
af  the  twins. 

36* 


418  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

[Miss  Worthy  steps  out  for  her  work.  During 
her  absence  Mrs.  Worthy  remarks] 

Mrs.  Wor.  This  is  the  best  way  I  can  find  out  of 
educating  my  daughters;  and  I  am  happy  to  say,  that 
they  love  the  task,  and  wish  to  be  a  blessing  to  their 
poor  neighbours  by  attending  to  their  wants.  They 
would  much  rather  dress  the  poor  than  dress  them- 
selves. They  have  been  taught  to  esteem  it  the 
highest  foll}^,  to  be  the  slaves  and  fools  of  fashion. 
Any  thing  that  appears  like  fantastic  dress,  either  in 
man  or  wOman,  with  them,  is  a  sure  indication  not 
only  of  the  weakness  of  the  head,  but  also  of  the 
depravity  of  the  heart. 

Mrs.  Lov.  It  is  much  to  be  lamented  how  many 
stationed  in  the  higher  circles  of  life,  are  half  ruined, 
even  from  childhood,  by  a  bad  education.  1  am 
very  glad  my  kind  parents  favoured  me  rather  with 
a  useful,  than  what  is  called  a  polite  education,  ac- 
cording to  that  station  of  life  they  knew  it  was  most 
probable  I  might  be  called  to  fill :  advantageous 
knowledge  and  the  improvement  of  the  mind,  were 
what  I  was  directed  to  seek  after;  and  as  this  has 
not  lessened  me  in  my  dear  Mr.  Lovely's  esteem,  I 
have  nothing  to  regret  on  that  score.  I  hope,  dear 
madam,  the  younger  branches  of  your  family,  will 
equally  prove  to  your  satisfaction;  as  well  as  to  their 
own  credit  through  life. 

Mrs.  Wor.  I  have  many  an  anxious  thought  about 
them,  but  the  younger  branches  of  our  family  have 
not  yet  finished  their  schooling,  and  we  had  anxiety 
enough  before  we  could  provide  such  places  of  edu- 
cation for  them,  as  are  best  calculated  for  the  proper 
improvement  of  their  minds.  We  feel  the  educa- 
tion of  our  children  a  most  solemn  charge;,  and  to 
begin  well  with  them  is  one  of  the  most  important 
steps  that  can  be  taken  for  their  future  good.  But 
all  is  nothing  without  the  divine  blessing  on  our  ef- 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  419 

forts.  If  our  little  ones  turn  out  as  well  as  our  two 
eldest  daughters,  we  shall  be  the  happiest  family 
upon  earth, 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  hope,  madam,  as  long  as  you  continue 
me  your  guest,  you  will  allow  me,  as  far  as  I  have 
strength,  to  help  the  young  ladies  in  their  excellent 
employment. 

J\Ls.  Wor.  Though  my  daughters  are  very  atten- 
tive in  this  beneficial  way  for  the  good  of  others,  yet 
at  times  we  are  not  forbidden  to  do  something  for 
ourselves,  and  for  the  instruction  of  our  own  minds; 
especially  in  the  winter  season.  Then  some  of  us 
work;  while  others  read  history,  geography  and  other 
useful  and  improving  publications. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  suppose  sometimes  different  periodi- 
cal publications  attract  your  notice. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Indeed  but  seldom:  for  most  of  them 
are  not  only  avowedly  written  with  a  party  design, 
but  too  frequently  in  such  an  angry  party  spirit,  as 
to  irritate  and  disturb  the  mind,  so  that  we  pay  very 
little  attention  to  them;  Mr.  Worthy  cannot  bear 
them.  But  our  greatest  feast  is,  when  we  can  get 
the  worthy  minister  of  our  parish  to  pass  an  evening 
with  us.  He  is  not  only  a  good,  but  a  well-educated 
man.  And  then  he  gives  us  delightful  lectures  in 
natural  and  experimental  philosophy,  but  especially 
•in  astronomy,  Mr,  Worthy  has  lately  presented  us 
with  the  fine  pair  of  globes  you  see  in  that  recess, 
and  an  admirable  telescope.  In  short,  aur  philoso- 
phical apparatus  is  now  become  very  considerable. 
And  at  times  we  have  many  of  our  more  intelligent 
neighbours  who  attend  these  intellectual  feasts.  But 
the  best  feast  is,  the  excellent  improvement  we  have 
of  it  from  our  pious  minister,  who  displays  the  glory 
of  the  great  Creator  in  such  an  admirable  manner,  in 
all  his  works. 

[Miss  Worthy  just  then  returns  with  her  work.] 


420  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

J[Iiss  Wor.  Now,  madam,  we  are  just  ready  to 
hear  about  the  lady  you  mentioned,  namely,  Mrs. 
Sharp. 

Mrs.  Lov.  A  deplorable  story  it  truly  is.  She 
has  experienced  a  very  severe  reverse  of  fortune, 
by  her  calamities.  She  was  the  only  daughter  of 
very  creditable  parents.  Her  father,  1  am  told,  was 
a  captain  in  the  army,  who  lost  his  life  when  she 
was  quite  young.  The  disconsolate  widow,  however, 
lived  to  educate  her  in  a  decent  and  respectable  style, 
though  she  was  taken  off  by  a  fever  before  she  had 
reached  her  twentieth  year:  and  it  seems  her  parents 
left  behind,  a  fortune  of  nearly  seven  thousand  pounds 
for  her  use. 

J\lrs.  Wor.  No  wonder  if  at  such  an  age  she  was 
off  her  guard,  and  made  a  mistake  in  marriage,  being 
so  early  deprived  of  the  guides  of  her  youth,  before 
her  judgment  was  properly  matured. 

Mrs.  Lov.  Why,  madam,  though  she  was  married 
so  young,  and  within  the  year  after  her  mother's 
death,  yet  ft  was  the  general  opinion  that  no  charge 
of  inadvertency  could  be  brought  against  her.  Mr. 
Sharp,  by  all  accounts,  was  then  supposed  to  be  a  very 
desirable  young  man,  and  in  early  life  was  esteemed 
by  most  as  of  general  credit  and  reputation.  He  was 
of  considerable  practice  in  the  law,  and  had  formed 
some  very  respectable  connexions;  and  though  he 
was  not  more  than  four  and  twenty  when  they  were 
married,  yet  he  being  then  very  diligent  and  clever  in 
his  profession,  most  people  thought  that  she  was  a  for- 
tunate young  woman,  and  that  it  would  prove  a  happy 
match.  In  short,  their  prospects  upon  their  marriage, 
and  for  some  time  afterwards,  were  very  promising; 
and  while  their  family  increased,  it  seemed  to  be  an 
additional  happiness  to  them  both., 

Mrs.  Wor.  How  many  children  had  they? 

Mrs.  Lov.  They  lived  together  till  they  had  four, 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  421 

and  at  that  time  most  people  envied  their  mutual  fe-  < 
licity  with  each  other. 

Mrs.  Wor.  What  could  be  the  cause  of  the  disso- 
lution of  such  a  happy  connexion? 

Mrs.  Lov.  0!  madam,  a  French  gentleman  and 
lady  were  driven  over  into  this  country  by  the  trou- 
bles in  France,  and  settled  in  our  neighbourhood.  He 
gave  himself  out  as  being  one  of  the  French  nobles, 
.but  was  only  known  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Dupee. — 
Who,  or  what  they  were  no  one  could  tell  5  and 
whether  they  were  or  were  not  married,  was  equally 
uncertain.  He  was  certainly  a  very  vain,  weak  man, 
and  she  a  most  artful  and  intriguing  woman ;  not  only 
possessed  of  a  strong  and  powerful  understanding, 
but  deeply  tutored  in  all  those  pernicious  principles 
which  have  proved  so  destructive  to  the  peace  of 
mankind,  and  especially  in  the  country  from  whence 
they  came. 

Mrs.  Wor.  No  wonder,  that  any  connexion  with 
such  sort  of  people  should  bring  ruin  with  them 
wherever  they  are  admitted.  But  how  came  Mr. 
Sharp  to  be  acquainted  with  them? 

Mrs.  Lov.  It  was  Madam  Dupee,  who  seemed  to 
be  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble;  she  was  the  manager 
of  every  thing;  for  he  being  troubled  with  epilepsy, 
and  at  the  best  of  a  weak  understanding,  he  paid  but 
very  little  attention  to  his  own  concerns,  so  that  not 
long  after  their  arrival,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  sending 
for  Mr.  Sharp  to  assist  her  in  settling  their  affairs, 
for  he  certainly  was  a  man  of  some  property;  and  at 
times  was  fond  of  making  a  little  show. 

Mrs.  Wor.  But  if  Mrs.  Sharp  was  of  an  amiable 
and  domestic  disposition,  he  must  have  been  a  very 
vile  man,  to  have  been  insnared  by  such  an  artful 
stranger.  * 

Mrs.  Lov.  0,  madam !  Mrs.  Sharp  had  many  an 
aching  heart  about  him,  soon  after  their  acquaintance 


422  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

commenced;  but  she  kept  her  sorrows  to  herself, 
although  even  the  children  could  discover  a  diffe- 
rence of  conduct  towards  her,  and  at  times  would 
say,  I  wonder  why  Papa  does  not  love  Mamma  as 
much  as  he  used  to  do. — Their  innocent  prattle  fre- 
quently drew  many  a  tear  from  her  eyes. 

J\l7's.  Wor.  No  wonder  if  after  this,  when  his  af- 
fections were  in  a  measure  withdrawn,  if  matters 
soon  went  from  bad  to  worse.  His  undue  intimacy 
with  such  an  intriguing  woman,  must  have  given 
Mrs.  Sharp  a  deal  of  trouble.  [To  Mrs,  Lovely.] 
What  should  you  and  I  feel,  if  we  had  such  hus- 
bands? 

Mrs.  Lov.  0,  dear  madam !  a  little  of  such  sort  of 
treatment  from  my  dear  George,  would  soon  be  the 
death  of  me.  I  have  had  a  deal  of  trouble  for  him, 
but  it  seems  almost  impossible  that  I  should  ever 
have  any  trouble  from  him,  though  perhaps  Mrs. 
Sharp  once  thought  the  same,  but  all  this  was  but  the 
beginning  of  much  deeper  sorrows;  and  the  sudden 
death  of  Mr.  Dupee,  completely  removed  every  obsta- 
cle out  of  the  way  of  their  farther  designs. 
J\Irs.  Wor.  How  came  that  about? 
Mrs.  Lov.  0,  madam!  though  his  epileptic  fits 
were  at  times  very  violent,  yet  from  one  of  them  he 
never  recovered,  and  this  was  attended  with  some 
such  circumstances  as  rendered  it  very  doubtful, 
whether  there  was  not  some  contrivance  between 
them  both,  that  he  never  should  recover,  though  no- 
thing could  positively  be  proved  against  them. 

Mrs.  Wor.  What!  is  it  supposed  that  Mr.  Sharp 
assisted  in  the  murder  of  the  poor  man? 

Mrs.  Lov.  It  is  too  generally  suspected,  that  some 
very  improper  treatment  during  his  last  fit,  was  the 
cause  of  his  dissolution;  for  no  person  was  permitted 
to  come  near  his  corpse,  while  he  lay  dead  in  the 


DIALOGUE  xxr.  423 

house,  and  this  preys  upon  Mrs.  Sharp's  mind  so  se- 
verely, that  she  is  almost  distracted. 

t/kfr5.  Wor.  If  she  had  the  most  distant  suspicion, 
that  he  could  be  accessary  to  such  an  abominable 
crime,  in  addition  to  his  unfaithfulness  and  unkind- 
ness;  how  could  she  bear  such  a  monster  of  a  man? 
no  wonder  that  it  caused  a  complete  separation  be- 
tween them. 

J\Irs.  Lov.  And  now  it  began  to  appear  most  evi- 
dently to  have  been  his  design  to  accomplish  such  a 
separation.     Though  the  woman  put  on  the  appear- 
ance of  one  of  the  most  inconsolable  widows  that 
ever  lived,  for  being,  if  any  thing,  a  Roman  Catholic, 
she  sent  to  all  the  popish  chapels  far  and  wide,  for 
their  masses,  to  pray  his  soul  out  of  purgatory,  yet 
more  of  the  company  of  Mr.  Sharp  was  evidently  all 
she  w^anted;  for  she  not  only  contrived  to  sweep  all 
her  husband's  property  into  her  own  pocket,  they  not 
having  any  children;  though  several  nephews  and 
nieces;  and  these  were  all  forgotten,  that  she  might 
get  the  whole  into  her  absolute  possession.     And  it 
seems  his  will  was  the  entire  fabrication  of  Mr.  Sharp, 
while  he  and  she  were  the  only  joint  executors  of  the 
whole  concern,  and  this  furnished  him  with  a  pretext 
to  give  almost  the  whole  of  his  company  to  this  vile 
woman;  while  his  broken-hearted  wife,  and  neglected 
children,  were  almost  entirely  forsaken  by  him.     In- 
deed if  ever  he  even  occasionally  went  to  his  own 
home,  it  was  only  to  see  his  wife  distracted  with 
grief,  at  the  sight  of  the  man  with  whom  she  had 
lived  with  so  much  conjugal  felicity  for  so  long  a 
time;  now  torn  from  her  bosom  by  this  artful  fo- 
reigner, and  all  his  children  neglected  by  him,  while 
the  youngest  was  still  hanging  on  her  breast. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Poor  woman,  she  must  have  been  the 
object  of  universal  pity. 

Mrs.  Lov.   Yes,  madam,  of  all  that  had  any  pity 


424  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

in  them;  while  he  now  began  to  be  not  less  the  object 
of  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt. 

Mrs,  Wor.  Could  he  continue  in  a  place  where  the 
odium  excited  against  him,  must,  one  would  suppose, 
have  been  so  very  universal? 

Mrs.  Lov.  No,  madam,  nor  did  he  design  it  from 
the  first:  for  though  this  artful  French  woman  wanted 
to  deceive  people,  by  assuming  the  most  tragical  and 
frantic  airs  of  grief,  and  by  giving  it  out,  that  she 
could  never  live  in  a  house  where  she  saw  her  dear 
husband  die  in  such  agonies;  consequently  must  sell 
all,  and  leave  the  place,  and  retire   into  her  own 
country;  yet  this  was  the  very  thing  that  Mr.  Sharp 
was  aiming  at,  to  accomplish  the  rest  of  his  plan. 
For  immediately  upon  her  requisition  he  had  a  pre- 
text to  sell  off  all  her  household  property,  and  fur- 
niture, with  all  possible  speed,  and  after  this,  no- 
thing would  do,  but  that  Mr.  Sharp  should  attend 
this  abominable  wretch  to  the  water-side,  leaving  be- 
hind him  a  promise  to  return.     To  this  Mrs.  Sharp 
was   obliged   reluctantly   to   submit.      She   having 
some  faint  hopes  that  she  might  yet  live  to  see  bet- 
ter days,  when  the  object  that  insnared  his  affections 
should  be  removed  from  them.     But  in  this  she  was 
also  mistaken.     He  went,  cruel  wretch,  to  return  no 
more. 

Mrs.  Wor,  This  was  completely  enough  to  break 
her  heart. 

Mrs.  Lov.  But,  madam,  there  was  more  heart- 
breaking work  after  all  this,  for  he  absolutely  con- 
trived to  avail  himself  of  all  the  property  she  brought 
with  her  into  the  family,  by  a  most  vile  swindling 
trick. 

Miss  Wor.  What  was  the  trick? 
Mrs.  Lov.  They  say,  that  some  sort  of  lawyers  are 
up  to  every  thing,  and  as  he  was  frequently  in  the 
habit,  in  his  professional  line,  of  buying  and  selling 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  425 

estates,  when  these  vile  designs  first  entered  into  his 
head,  before  the  death  of  Mr.  Dupee,  he  told  his 
wife  that  he  had  an  opportunity  of  buying  an  estate 
with  her  fortune,  to  a  very  considerable  advantage; 
which  he  should  settle  on  her  and  their  family,  and 
though  she  had  then  her  fears,  lest  she  should  soon 
be  deprived  of  the  remaining  share  of  his  afiections, 
sooner  than  give  him  any  pretext  against  her,  she 
reluctantly  submitted,  and  completely  ruined  herself 
thereby.  This  advantageous  purchase  he  gave  her 
to  understand,  was  fully  accomplished.  And  after 
his  departure  she  naturally  inquired,  where  this  ima- 
ginary estate  for  herself  and  children  was  to  be  found; 
b^t  think  what  her  feelings  must  have  been  upon  the 
painful  discovery,  that  all  was  an  entire  cheat,  and 
that  she  had  nothing  left,  for  herself  and  family,  but 
a  little  pocket-money,  the  furniture  of  the  house  in 
which  she  lived,  and  a  few  outstanding  debts,  while 
these  were  scarcely  sufficient  to  discharge  the  debts 
the  vile  wretch  had  left  against  her,  for  their  house- 
keeping expenses. 

jkrs.  Wor.  Were  not  these  rather  to  be  conceived 
as  debts  belonging  to  her  husband? 

Mrs.  Lav.  But  as  she  and  her  children  partook  of 
the  benefit  of  them,  she  honourably  discharged  them, 
till  she  had  scarcely  any  thing  left  for  herself,  but 
what  must  soon  be  exhausted.  She  has  indeed  a 
little  plate,  and  a  few  valuable  trinkets,  and  some  of 
these  it  seems  she  has  already  parted  with,  and  when 
these  are  gone,  she  has  nothing  but  poverty  and  dis- 
tress before  her. 

Mrs.  Wor.  Have  they  not  heard  any  thing  of  him 
since  his  departure? 

Mrs.  Lov.  Not  a  tittle;  and  it  is  now  three  months 
since.    She  never  expects  to  hear  from  him  again. 

Miss  Wor.    Vile  fellow.     No  matter  for  that,  if 

VOL.  L  — 37 


426  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

the  poor  forsaken  woman  and  her  children  can  only 
be  supported. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  hope  she  will;  for  several  people  have 
already  sent  her  some  presents,  and  my  dear  George 
says  he  will  give  her  a  trifle. 

Mrs.  Wor.  And  I  dare  say,  my  dear  Samuel  will 
add  another  trifle. — But  did  Mrs.  Sharp  show  any 
such  tempers  at  home,  so  as  to  give  a  pretext  to  her 
husband,  not  to  be  so  fond  of  her  company  as  for- 
merly. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  never  heard  that  she  did;  she  is  said 
to  be  a  woman  of  very  engaging  manners,  and  of  an 
amiable  temper,  though  I  dare  say,  he  w^ould  find  no 
very  comfortable  reception  on  his  return,  when  l^p 
had  neglected  his  own  family  fire-side,  evening  after 
evening,  to  hear  her  distressful  sighs,  and  to  see  tears 
of  grief,  every  now  and  then  starting  from  her  eyes, 
while  he  had  no  other  excuse  for  himself,  than  that 
of  taking  the  opportunity  of  gaining  better  instruc- 
tion in  the  French  language,  which  it  seems  he  knew 
well  enough  before. 

Mrs.  Wor.  The  more  innocent  and  excellent  her 
character  is  made  to  appear,  it  is  hoped  the  more 
ready  people  will  be  to  come  forward  towards  her 
support. 

Mrs.  Lov.  Ah,  madam!  but  after  having  lived  in 
comparative  afiluence,  to  be  reduced  to  live  in  a  state 
of  entire  dependence  upon  the  bounty  of  others,  is  a 
very  painful  event.  She  has  not  been  accustomed  to 
any  way  of  getting  her  own  livelihood,  nor  would 
her  little  family  allow  her  to  do  it  if  she  had  it  in 
her  power:  in  short,  she  cannot  help  herself,  while 
she  feels  it  a  mortifying  thought  to  be  helped  by 
others,  though  one  of  her  faithful  servants  says,  she 
cannot  leave  her,  if  she  works  for  nothing,  while  the 
prattle  of  her  little  children  cuts  her  to  the  heart. 
At  one  time,  they  will  be  asking  her,  Where  is  Papa 


DIALOGUE  XXI.  427 

gone?  why  don^t  he  bring  us  pretty  things  as  he  used 
to  do?  and  when  at  times  they  see  her  in  tears, 
they  will  ask,  What  makes  you  cry,  Mamma?  you 
say  we  are  naughty  if  we  cry.  Then  again  when 
their  mother  provides  them  with  but  a  scanty  meal, 
being  apprehensive  that  her  little  remaining  stock 
will  soon  be  exhausted,  they  will  be  asking  with  art- 
less surprise,  why  they  are  allowed  so  little;  and  what 
is  become  of  the  good  things  they  formerly  used  to 
have. 

jyiiss  Wor.  What  painful  feelings  such  sort  of  ques- 
tions must  excite  in  a  mother's  breast! 

Mrs.  Lov.  Yes:  and  what  additional  pain  must  she 
have  felt,  when  she  began  to  find  it  necessary  to  part 
with  the  furniture  out  of  her  house,  at  different  times, 
to  provide  even  such  scanty  meals  as  these,  while  she 
was  painfully  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  provide  a  suf- 
ficiency to  pay  the  taxes,  as  they  were  demanded  of 
her.  The  most  disconsolate  widow  upon  earth  has 
not  half  the  cause  of  grief  as  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
this  afflicted  woman;  what  less  can  be  expected, 
than  that  grief  should  send  her  to  the  grave  with  a 
broken  heart?  even  a  detail  of  such  uncommon  suf- 
ferings, is  quite  sufficient  for  any  person  of  common 
humanity  to  narrate. 

Mrs,  Wor.  Perhaps  you  had  better  defer  the  rest 
of  the  narration,  until  another  opportunity,  lest  it 
should  be  too  much  for  your  spirits. 

Mrs.  Lov.  I  have  but  little  farther  to  observe  con- 
cerning her. — Oh,  here  is  my  dear  George,  and  Mr. 
Worthy  riding  up  to  the  door;  I  am  glad  they  have 
returned  so  soon. 

No  sooner  had  they  alighted,  than  the  conversa- 
tion became  too  desultory  to  demand  the  reader's 
attention,  nor  is  it  necessary  that  the  narration  re- 
specting Mrs.  Sharp  should  be  continued,  as  all  that 
is  material  has  been  sufficiently  made  known.    I  shall 


428  VILLAGE  DIALOGUES. 

only  observe,  that  though  the  Lovelys  could  not  but 
be  charmed  with  the  affectionate  hospitality  of  the 
Worthys;  yet  but  little  was  said  respecting  Mr. 
Lovegood,  only  from  general  hints:  and  as  he  was 
scarcely  from  home  on  the  Saturday,  the  first  time 
they  saw  him,  was  in  his  official  duty  on  the  Sunday 
morning.  Mr.  Worthy,  however,  stepped  aside  for 
a  short  time,*  to  the  Vicarage,  to  tell  him  what  sort 
of  guests  had  been  providentially  brought  to  his 
house,  together  with  a  short  detail  of  their  history, 
supposing  that  Mr.  Lovegood  with  his  wonted  wis- 
dom and  readiness  of  mind,  might  know  how  to  im- 
prove the  event,  by  introducing  such  wise,  though 
indirect  remarks,  as  might  be  best  calculated  to  do 
them  good.  The  result  of  that  day's  services,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  will  prove  sufficiently  interesting  to 
captivate  the  reader's  attention,  and  to  improve  his 
mind. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


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